THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 
MR.  &  MRS.  FRANK  U.  BEARING 


LYING   WITH   HIS    PALLID   FACE    TOWARD   THE   SKY, 

HE   LOOKED   HANDSOME   AND    BOYISH  AND 

IRRESISTIBLY  LIKABLE    (  page  373) 


Mary  Regan 


By  LEROY  SCOTT 

AUTHOR  OF 

"Partners  of  the  Night,"     Etc. 


With  Frontispiece 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  arrangement  with  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    1917,   BY    THE    METROPOLITAN    MAGAZINE    COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT,    1918,   BY   LBKOY   SCOTT 


ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


Published  January  tgiS 


PS 
3,537 


CONTENTS 

I.  THE  WORLD  SITS  DOWN  TOGETHER   .   .  I 

II.  THE  RETURN  OF  MARY  REGAN.   ...  II 

III.  PETER  LOVEMAN      ........  2Q 

IV.  AS   MARY  SEES  HERSELF    ......  34 

V.  CLIFFORD  HAS  A  NEW  PURPOSE       ...  47 

VI.  MARY  SHOWS   HER  HAND  ......     55 

VII.  NINA  CORDOVA    .........     70 

VIII.  IN  LOVEMAN'S  LIBRARY     ......     87 

IX.  THE  TEST  OF  LIFE  ........  IOO 

X.  THE  GOLDEN   DOORS     .......  112 

XL  MARY   PLANS  ANEW       .......  124 

XII.  A  GENTLEMAN  OF  PLEASURE       .       .      .      .136 

XIII.  MR.   MORTON   TAKES  A   HAND      .       .      .      .149 

XIV.  MARY  FACES  A  CRISIS        ......  159 

XV.  LOVEMAN  SHOWS  HIS  CLAWS       ....  169 

XVI.  THE  STRINGS  OF  HUMAN  NATURE  .      .      .  l8l 
XVII.  THE  OTHER  WOMAN      .......  193 

XVIII.  HOW  MAISIE  JONES  REACTED  .  .  .  .  206 

XIX.  MARY  THINKS  THINGS  OUT  .....  215 
XX.  CLIFFORD'S  NEW  ASSIGNMENT  .  ...  225 

XXI.  AT  THE  MIDNIGHT  CAFE         .....  238 

V 

754912 


CONTENTS 

XXII.  MARY  MAKES  AN  OFFER 248 

XXIII.  LOVEMAN'S  FINAL  PLEA 264 

XXIV.  TWO  PLEASANT  GENTLEMEN     .      .      .      .275 
XXV.  A  FATHER'S   HOPE 282 

XXVI.  HOW  MARY'S  DREAM   CAME  TRUE      .      .  295 

XXVII.  JACK  MAKES  A   RESOLUTION     .       .       .       .315 

XXVIII.  THE  HOUSE  OF  MONSIEUR  LE  BAIN  .       .  324 

XXIX.  CLIFFORD  WAITS  ON   GUARD     .       .      .      .336 

XXX.  WHEN  WOMEN  NEVER  TALK    .      .       .      .344 

XXXI.  WHEN  OLD  FOES  GET  TOGETHER       .      .  354 

XXXII.  PLEASURE  PRESENTS  ITS  BILL        .      .      .  363 

XXXIII.  THE  STUFF  IN  MARY  REGAN   .      .      .      .378 


MARY  REGAN 

CHAPTER   I 

THE  WORLD  SITS  DOWN  TOGETHER 

IT  was  opening  night  of  the  new  bill  at  the  Grand 
Alcazar;  and  Clifford,  as  he  waited  alone  at  a  little 
table  for  his  host,  almost  unconsciously  searched 
through  the  great  restaurant  of  black-and-gold  for 
Mary  Regan  —  just  as,  almost  unconsciously,  he 
had  been  seeking  her  wherever  he  had  been  during 
the  six  months  of  agreed -upon  silence  since  they 
had  parted.  He  did  not  expect  to  see  her  here, 
hence  felt  no  disappointment  when  his  roving  eyes 
did  not  come  upon  her.  She  had  said  she  would 
write  when  she  had  thought  it  all  out,  and  when  she 
was  ready  to  see  him.  Six  months  was  a  long  time, 
but  he  believed  in  her  word  - —  and  still  waited,  not 
once  having  sought  to  penetrate  that  utter  privacy 
which  she  had  asserted  to  be  for  her,  at  that  time, 
life's  prime  essential.  But  though  keeping  his  word, 
he  had  often  been  impatient,  and  had  often  wondered. 
Meditatively  Clifford  glanced  over  this  great 
crowd  of  well-dressed  diners.  For  him  they  were  a 
vivid  concentration,  a  cross-section,  of  life:  of  life 
as  he,  in  his  philosophy,  and  in  the  pursuit  of  his 

I 


MARY  REGAN 

profession,  had  come  to  see  it.  Here  were  million 
aires,  many  of  them  having  made  their  easeful 
fortunes  by  dubious  operations  which  shrewd  coun 
sel  had  steered  just  within  the  law;  here  were  young 
men  of  moderate  means,  spending  recklessly;  here 
were  society  women  of  the  younger  and  smarter 
set,  with  their  escorts,  sowing  the  seeds,  though  they 
dreamed  it  not,  of  possible  scandal  and  possible 
blackmail;  here  were  members  of  that  breed  of  hu 
mans  who  are  known  as  "sporting  men";  here  were 
the  most  finished  types  of  professional  crooks,  many 
accompanied  by  the  finished  women  of  their  own 
kind,  but  here  and  there  with  them  a  girl  who  had  no 
idea  of  the  manner  of  man  with  whom  she  ate  and 
drank,  and  no  idea  of  the  end  of  this  her  pleasant 
adventure;  and  here  were  respectable  mothers  and 
their  daughters,  who  were  innocent  of  what  sat  at 
the  next  table;  and  here  were  out-of-town  visitors 
who  were  visibly  excited  and  exalted  by  the  thought 
that  they  were  seeing  life  —  New  York !  —  the  real 
New  York! 

Clifford  smiled  sadly,  rather  grimly,  to  himself. 
These  conglomerate  guests  were  proof  of  what  he 
had  long  held:  that  there  was  no  distinct  under 
world,  no  distinct  upperworld;  that  in  ideas  and 
personalities  the  two  were  always  merging.  This 
scene  summarized  what  experience  had  made  the 
basic  idea  of  Clifford's  working  philosophy :  the  great 
interrelation,  the  great  interdependence,  the  great 
oneness  of  all  humanity. 

2 


MARY  REGAN 

Looking  over  this  mixture  of  all  sorts,  in  which 
acquaintance  was  so  easy  to  make,  Clifford  thought 
of  the  strange  dramas  that  had  their  beginnings  in 
the  Grand  Alcazar  and  establishments  of  its  kind. 
Thus  much  had  the  dancing  craze,  though  now  re 
ceded  from  its  earliest  frenzy,  and  the  practice  of 
dining  and  eating  midnight  suppers  in  the  showy 
restaurants,  achieved:  it  had  brought  all  sorts  of 
persons,  so  long  as  they  were  well  dressed,  under  the 
same  roof  and  had  set  them  down  at  the  same  or 
adjoining  tables.  Hardly  since  time  began  had  that 
important  requisite  of  great  drama  been  so  nearly 
perfect  as  in  these  restaurants  —  for  people  of  differ 
ent  ideas  and  interests  and  moral  standards  to  meet 
naturally  upon  a  common  ground.  .  .  . 

A  little  man,  swart  of  face,  his  mustache  tightly 
waxed,  and  in  the  smartest  evening  dress  that  con 
vention  permits  the  male,  paused  and  spoke  to  Clif 
ford  —  a  gentleman  whom  most  of  the  patrons  of 
the  place  knew,  if  they  knew  him  at  all,  as  Monsieur 
Le  Bain.  Though  the  master  of  this  ornate  pleasure 
palace,  he  spoke  obsequiously. 

Clifford  liked  to  see  the  great  little  man  squirm. 
"Police  trouble  you  much  here?"  he  asked. 

"No,  Bob,  —  I  never  see  a  policeman  here,  except 
when  a  captain  or  an  inspector  comes  in  to  eat,"  the 
great  restaurateur  said  nervously. 

"Not  like  the  old  days  downtown  —  with  their 
raids  —  eh,  Joe?" 

"  Nothing  of  that  sort  —  ever ! "  And  with  a  quick 

3 


MARY  REGAN 

look  around  that  showed  he  feared  some  one  might 
have  overheard  these  sentences  and  guessed  what 
lay  behind  them,  he  said  something  about  being 
needed  on  his  ballroom  floor  and  hurried  away. 

Clifford  watched  the  famous  restaurateur,  again 
smiling  grimly.  If  these  people  here  —  the  respect 
able  ones  at  least  —  knew  the  record  of  Joe  Gordon 
(which  again  was  not  the  name  given  him  at  birth), 
knew  from  what  places  and  occupations  he  had 
made  his  way  to  his  eminence  of  foremost  host  and 
impresario  of  prandial  entertainment  —  what  a 
panic  there  would  be!  (Or  would  there  be  a  panic?) 
Life  was  certainly  strange !  —  with  its  emergencies, 
its  juxtapositions,  its  crossing  of  threads  — strange 
at  least  to  him  who  was  always  seeing  behind  the 
scenes.  Yes,  life  was  certainly  strange!  .  .  . 

Clifford's  meditations  were  interrupted  by  a 
hearty,  "Hello,  Bob,"  and  by  a  large  hand  gripping 
one  of  his. 

r  "Hello,  Uncle  George.  I 'd  begun  to  think  — " 
i-  "Hold  on,  son,"  and  Clifford's  host  halted  the 
talk  by  raising  one  hand  like  a  traffic  policeman  and 
with  the  other  reaching  for  the  dinner  card.  While 
the  long  order  was  being  dictated,  Clifford  gazed 
impatiently  across  at  his  companion,  wondering 
what  this  appointment  was  about.  His  host  was  a 
large  man  who  once  might  have  been  bulbous,  but 
who  now  had  deflated  little  balloons  of  skin  hanging 
beneath  eyes  and  chin  and  jaws.  His  few  short 
gray  hairs  were  divided  into  two  precisely  equal  por- 

4 


MARY  REGAN 

tions;  his  eyebrows  were  entirely  gone,  and  of  eye 
lashes  he  had  almost  none;  his  eyes  were  smallish, 
gray,  cunning,  genial.  He  made  Clifford  fancy,  with 
those  eyes  of  his  so  good-naturedly  cynical,  and  with 
his  large,  outstanding  ears,  that  here  might  be  a 
satyr  who  had  forsaken  gay  forests  for  city  and  had 
at  length  grown  into  grandfatherly  days. 

"Well,  now,  Uncle  George  —  what's  all  this 
about?"  Clifford  demanded  when  the  order  was  in. 

"Not  so  fast,  son,  —  not  so  fast,"  slowly  remon 
strated  Uncle  George,  who,  as  far  as  Broadway's 
knowledge  went,  was  no  one's  Uncle  George,  but 
who  was  known  by  no  other  name.  ' '  Let 's  wait  until 
we  Ve  packed  away  some  of  the  freight  that  waiter 's 
going  to  bring  us."  He  blinked  his  lashless  lids,  and 
drawled  on.  "It's  been  a  long  time  since  I've  seen 
you  —  six  months.  I  just  wanted  to  give  you  the  once 
over,  and  ask  you  how  was  trade." 

"Trade's  good  —  considering." 

The  old  head  nodded.  "Yes,  considering  that 
you  're  a  detective  who 's  on  the  square.  There 's  not 
much  chance  for  that  sort,  son,  —  not  in  this  here 
widely  advertised  Christian  civilization  of  ours.  At 
least,  not  much  chance  to  make  a  large  private  col 
lection  of  coin." 

"I'm  not  in  this  primarily  to  make  money.  I 
thought  you  understood  that." 

"You  sure  are  a  queer  guy,  son,"  pronounced  the 
old  man.  "I've  heard  you  spiel  off  your  ideas  — 
you  're  not  primarily  a  thief- taker  —  you  're  in  this 

5 


MARY  REGAN 

to  help  people  out  of  the  trouble.  A  hell  of  an  idea 
for  a  detective!" 

"You  know  as  well  as  I  do,  Uncle  George,  that 
most  of  the  people  that  get  into  trouble,  or  seem  to 
be  bad  —  well,  they  personally  are  not  so  much  to 
blame.  They've  been  born  and  raised  in  bad  condi 
tions  —  they  Ve  never  had  a  chance  —  have  never 
really  been  able  to  tell  what  was  right  or  wrong, 
and  have  never  had  a  chance  to  choose  the  right  — " 

"Come  up  for  air,  son,  —  come  up  for  air,"  cut  in 
the  old  man.  "Son,  that's  nice  music,  but  it's  all 
bunk.  You're  an  awful  example  of  what  a  college 
education  can  do  to  a  man.  Now  you  just  listen  to 
your  Uncle  George.  You  know  me  —  everybody 
knows  me.  I  Ve  been  in  about  every  crooked  game 
known  to  the  human  race  and  the  higher  animals, 
including  managing  shows  —  and  I  Ve  never  been 
pinched  because  I  was  too  clever  for  the  coppers,  and 
the  coppers  know  it,  too.  I  tell  you  I  know  life  up 
and  down  and  across  the  middle  —  and  I  tell  you 
that  we've  all  got  a  streak  of  crookedness  —  every 
damned  one  of  us!" 

"  If  that's  so,"  smiled  Clifford,  "then  why  are  you 
always  helping  crooks?" 

"That's  just  my  human  cussedness.  I've  retired 
from  business  —  I'm  one  of  these  gentlemen  farmers 
that  have  located  on  Broadway;  but  I  don't  like  to 
see  any  earnest  young  crook  get  a  raw  deal  from  the 
coppers,  who  are  the  rawest  crooks  of  all."  The  old 
man  waved  his  left  hand  as  though  brushing  such 

6 


MARY  REGAN 

conversation  aside.  "But  let's  get  down  to  brass 
tacks  —  which  means  you  and  me.  You  and  Brad 
ley  as  great  friends  as  ever?" 

Despite  himself  Clifford  flushed  with  chagrin. 
"Don't  try  to  be  funny!" 

"And,  son,  don't  be  too  sore.  Bradley  was  one 
hell  of  a  guy.  He  was  the  cleverest  chief  of  detec 
tives  the  Police  Department  ever  had." 

"And  the  crookedest!" 

"Sure,  son,  —  did  n't  I  tell  you  us  humans  were 
all  crooks!"  the  old  man  said  appeasingly.  "But, 
sure,  there  never  was  a  crookeder  chief  of  detectives 
than  Bradley.  You  certainly  showed  nerve  when 
you  started  out  to  get  him  —  and  you  certainly 
showed  your  class  when  you  finally  trapped  him, 
publicly,  with  the  goods  on.  Only  — " 

"That's  it  —  only!"  Clifford  exclaimed  sourly. 
"It's  quite  some  little  word,  that  only." 

"Sure  —  only.  Son,"  —  and  the  old  man  spoke 
gravely,  —  "I'm  twice  as  old  as  you  are,  but  you 
should  know  as  well  as  I  know  that  you  really  can't 
get  a  copper.  I  mean  a  clever  copper.  Count  the  big 
coppers  that  have  really  been  sent  away  —  the  smart 
boys,  I  mean  —  and  you  '11  see  you  have  several 
fingers  left  to  check  up  your  laundry  on.  That  was 
grand  business  you  pulled  on  Bradley,  and  it  showed 
all  New  York  he  was  a  crook.  It  was  worth  doing 
—  God,  yes!  But  I  said  to  myself,  as  soon  as  I  heard 
of  the  swell  arrest  you  had  made  of  him,  that  a 
classy  guy  like  Bradley  would  have  himself  covered 

7 


MARY  REGAN 

and  would  beat  the  case  when  it  came  to  trial.  And 
he  sure  did  beat  it!" 

"On  a  technicality!"  Clifford  was  still  bitter  at 
the  manner  in  which  his  old  enemy  and  old  superior 
officer  had  slipped  from  what  had  seemed  the  sure 
clutches  of  the  law. 

"A  technicality,  sure.  But  it  got  him  off,  and  what 
more  does  a  crook  ever  ask  for?" 

"  But  he  got  reinstated  in  the  Police  Department ! " 

"But  did  n't  he  retire  right  afterwards,  claiming 
broken  health?  And  don't  you  and  I  know  his  real 
reason  was  that  his  old  game  was  done  for  and  that 
the  public  was  wise  to  him?  The  big  trouble  with 
you,  son,"  the  old  man  declared  severely,  "is  that 
you  want  a  one  hundred  per  cent  victory.  The  best 
you  can  hope  for  with  a  guy  like  Bradley  is  to  split 
the  thing  fifty-fifty." 

"You  seem  to  admire  Bradley  a  lot ! "  half  growled 
Clifford. 

"  I  do.  I  hand  it  to  the  guy  with  brains  wherever 
I  meet  him." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  friends  with  me,  then ! " 

"  You  're  clever,  too,  son.  You  're  the  only  one  I  Ve 
ever  figured  might  beat  Bradley  in  a  finish  fight.  And 
then  you're  a  queer  party,  Bob,  —  you're  square," 
he  drawled.  " I've  traveled  up  and  down  this  world 
of  he-and-she  grafters,  shoplifters,  safeblowers,  and 
sure-thing  business  men,  and  after  it  all  you  know 
it 's  right  pleasant  to  sit  down  in  the  shade  of  a  square 
guy.  And  besides,  son,"  he  added,  "I  said  I  ad- 

8 


mired  Bradley  because  he  was  clever;  I  did  n't  say 
I  liked  him  as  a  friend.  Now,  you,  Bob,  somehow  I 
like  you." 

"Thanks,  Uncle  George. "  There  was  a  moment's 
silence.  "But  that's  not  what  you  got  me  here  to 
tell  me." 

"  Perhaps  not,  son.  But  what 's  the  hurry?  Queer, 
ain't  it,"  he  meditated,  "how  all  the  big  cops,  when 
they  leave  the  Police  Department,  open  a  private  de 
tective  agency?  I  hear  Bradley 's  doing  great  busi 
ness  since  he  started  out  as  a  private  detective." 

"Licensed  blackmailer  —  that's  what  he  is!" 

"Sure,  son,  that's  what  they  all  are.  A  client  tells 
a  private  sleuth  secrets,  and  retains  him  to  get  in 
formation  about  some  other  party  —  and  is  held  up 
for  a  big  fee.  The  sleuth  gets  the  information,  and 
then  makes  the  second  party  pay  by  threatening 
to  expose  him  —  second  hold-up ;  and  then  makes 
the  first  client  pay  again  by  threatening  to  expose 
the  original  secret  —  third  hold-up.  Oh,  it 's  a  rich 
game  Bradley 's  switched  into!" 

"Once  more,  Uncle  George  —  that's  not  what  you 
got  me  here  to  tell  me." 

"Perhaps  it's  not  really  so  much  I've  got  to  tell 
you.  Mebbe  it's  occurred  to  you"  —  meditatively, 
slowly  —  "that  since  the  big  upset  you  gave  him, 
Bradley  is  n't  exactly  what  you  might  call  in  love 
with  you." 

"  Not  exactly." 

"Well,  I  heard  it  from  a  friend  who's  got  a  friend 

9 


MARY  REGAN 

who 's  got  a  mother-in-law  who  listens  to  little  birds 
—  and  the  dope  runs  that  Bradley  is  out  to  square 
matters  with  you." 

Clifford  nodded.  He  had  expected  something  of 
the  sort. 

"Did  this  little  bird  relay  any  information  as  to 
just  what  Bradley  was  going  to  do?" 

"None  that  got  to  me.  But,  son,  I  'd  keep  my  eyes 
pointed  in  all  directions,  and  be  careful  of  the  friends 
I  made,  and  be  careful  of  the  cases  I  got  drawn  into. 
It  may  be  a  long  time  coming,  and  God  only  knows 
in  what  direction  it'll  come  from.  Bradley  knows/ 
how  to  handle  people  so  they  never  know  they're 
being  handled  —  and  he 's  likely  to  hit  you  through 
almost  any  one.  Look  out,  son.  This  is  serious. 
There'll  be  big  doings." 

Clifford  gazed  steadily  at  the  old  worldling.  In 
deed,  there  must  be  something  —  and  big!  —  01 
else  Uncle  George,  whose  general  attitude  in  matters 
of  morals,  police,  and  criminals  was  one  of  genia* 
laissez-faire,  would  not  have  brought  him  this  warn 
ing.  He  knew  from  experience  the  craft  and  powe< 
of  Bradley  —  his  subtle  patience  in  working  out  hi&, 
designs,  his  patience  in  waiting  apparently  quiescent 
for  the  ripe  moment  —  the  swiftness  and  might  with 
which  he  struck  when  the  instant  came  to  strike. 

Automatically,  swiftly,  Clifford's  mind  flashed 
forward  in  search  of  possible  weapons,  of  direct  and 
devious  schemes,  that  the  fertile-brained  Bradley 
might  be  contriving  against  him. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  RETURN  OF  MARY  REGAN 

SUDDENLY  all  conjectures  concerning  Bradley  were 
swept  utterly  from  his  mind.  Down  the  gilded  red- 
carpeted  stairway  that  led  from  what  the  Grand 
Alcazar  termed  its  "ballroom  de  luxe,"  there  came 

—  though  this  was  not  the  figure  Clifford  first  noted 

—  a  short,  full-bodied,  ornately  dressed  man,  with 
a  bald  crown  and  a  smile  of  engaging  amiability. 
Beside  him,  and  a  half-head  taller,  —  and  this  is 
what  Clifford  first  saw,  —  walked  a  slender  young 
woman,   in  an  evening  coat  of  rose    velvet,    her 
rounded  throat  gleaming  a  dusky  marble  from  the 
soft  shadows  of  the  furred  collar.    Her  face  was  the 
rose-tan  of  early  autumn  leaves,  and  her  dark  eyes 
gazed  straight  before  her  with  a  composure  so  com 
plete  that  it  seemed  to  announce  a  haughty  indiffer 
ence  to  all  the  world. 

"Mary  Regan!"  ejaculated  Clifford,  stupefied. 

Uncle  George  seemed  not  the  least  startled  by  Clif 
ford's  exclamation.  He  turned  —  and  then  there  was 
surprise  enough  in  his  voice :  — 

"Hello  —  Peter  Loveman  with  her!" 

Clifford,  recovered  from  his  brief  paralysis,  arose 
and  hurried  between  the  tables.  But  the  pair  had 
already  turned  into  the  entrance  and  did  not  note 

II 


MARY  REGAN 

him.  As  Clifford  came  into  the  gilded  and  bepalmed 
lobby,  he  saw  her,  aided  by  four  eager  Grand  Alca 
zar  flunkeys  and  by  Loveman,  looking  a  grotesquely 
small  grand  opera  impresario  in  his  silk  hat  and  fur 
coat,  stepping  into  a  closed  car.  By  running  Clifford 
could  have  caught  her,  or  by  calling  he  could  have 
gained  her  attention.  But  at  that  instant  he  re 
membered  the  essence  of  their  bargain,  that  he 
should  make  no  attempt  to  seek  her  out  until  she- 
sent  for  him.  That  remembrance  checked  him;  the 
door  closed  upon  the  rose-velvet  figure,  the  car  slid 
off  through  Broadway's  incandescent  brilliance,  and 
she  was  gone.  »j--*  v 

Foregetful  of  where  he  was,  Clifford  stood  bare 
headed  and  stockstill  in  the  lobby.  Mary  Regan's 
sudden  reappearance  out  of  the  silence,  the  vacancy, 
of  six  months'  absence,  sent  his  mind  flashing  over 
the  past,  the  present,  the  future,  touching  in  chaotic 
wonderment  the  high  spots  of  his  strange  relation 
ship  with  her.  .  .  .  Daughter  of  that  one-time  fa 
mous  cynic  and  famous  master  criminal,  "Gentle 
man  Jim"  Regan,  dead  these  five  years,  she  had 
passed  her  girlhood  in  the  cynical  philosophy  of  the 
little  court  surrounding  her  father,  —  had  made  that 
philosophy  her  own,  —  and,  grown  into  young 
womanhood,  she  had  joined  that  great  crime  entre 
preneur,  her  Uncle  Joe  Russell,  in  many  of  his  more 
subtle  enterprises.  It  was  at  the  beginning  of  this 
career  that  Clifford's  life  had  come  into  contact  with 
hers.  Police  Commissioner  Thorne  had  ordered  him 

12 


MARY  REGAN 

to  "cover"  the  pair.  From  the  first  Clifford  had  con 
ceived  the  idea  that  her  criminal  point  of  view  was 
not  an  expression  of  her  true  nature,  but  was  a  habit 
of  mind  developed  in  her  by  association :  and  he  had 
proceeded  upon  the  theory  that  a  bigger  r61e,  than 
merely  to  make  arrests,  would  be  to  arouse  the  real 
Mary  Regan  to  her  true  self.  .  .  .  The  conflicts  be 
tween  the  two !  —  her  hostility  to  him !  —  his  ulti 
mate  success,  or  seeming  success,  when  he  had  broken 
through  her  shell  of  defensive  cynicism  —  and  last 
of  all,  that  parting  scene  down  in  Washington  Square 
in  the  dusk  of  the  on-coming  dawn !  .  .  . 

He  lived  through  that  scene  for  a  briefest  mo 
ment  —  he  was  always  living  over  that  scene.  He 
had  told  her  that  he  loved  her;  and  she,  admitting 
that  she  loved  him,  had  said,  "But  that  doesn't 
mean  I  can  marry  you."  "Then,  what  does  it 
mean?"  he  had  demanded.  A  look  of  decision 
had  come  into  her  face  —  how  vividly  he  recalled 
every  minutia  of  their  one  love-scene !  —  and  she 
had  said :  — 

"Before  we  can  talk  definitely  about  such  things, 
I  want  to  go  off  somewhere,  alone,  and  think  over 
what  you  have  said  about  me.  If  I  am  not  what  I 
used  to  be  —  if  I  am  really  that  different  person  you 
say  I  am,  I  want  to  get  acquainted  with  myself.  I 
seem  so  strange  to  myself,  it  all  seems  so  strange. 
I  hope  you  are  right  —  but  I  must  be  sure  —  very 
sure  —  and  so  I  am  going  away." 

"But  when  you  come  back?"  he  had  cried. 

13 


MARY  REGAN 

"A  lot  may  happen  before  that,"  she  had  an 
swered  gravely.  "A  lot  to  you,  and  a  lot  to  me." 

"But  when  you  come  back?"  he  had  insisted. 

"When  I  come  back,"  she  had  breathed  quaver- 
ingly,  "if  you  still  think  the  same  way  about  my 
being  that  sort  of  person  —  and  if  I  find  that  it 's 
really  true — " 

And  then  his  arms  had  closed  about  her  and  he  had 
kissed  her.  But  even  as  she  had  let  him,  she  had 
murmured  almost  fearfully:  "Remember  —  a  lot  — 
may  happen  —  before  then  ..." 

Clifford's  mind  leaped  forward  from  that  long- 
gone  night  to  the  present.  And  now  she  was  back 
—  back  out  of  the  unknown  into  which  she  had  dis 
appeared  —  and  back  without  having  sent  him  a 
word  of  any  kind!  What  did  it  mean,  this  unan 
nounced  return?  And  what  did  it  mean,  her  being 
in  company  with  dapper  little  Peter  Loveman?  — 
man-about- town,  and  carrying  behind  that  round, 
amiable  smile  the  shrewdest  legal  brain  of  its  va 
riety  in  New  York. 

Clifford  had  in  reality  been  standing  in  the  gilded 
lobby  for  no  more  than  a  minute,  though  his  mind 
had  traversed  so  wide  a  space,  when  a  gray-and 
black  town-car,  with  a  long  hood  that  suggestec 
power  ample  for  a  racer,  slowed  down  at  the  curb 
and  a  young  man  stepped  out  and  hurried  into  the 
Grand  Alcazar.  Fifth  Avenue  tailors  and  hatters 
and  haberdashers  had  equipped  him  with  their  best 
and  costliest. 


MARY  REGAN 

"Sink  my  ship  if  it's  not  old  Bob  Clifford!"  he 
cried,  giving  Clifford  a  slender,  soft  hand.  "How's 
the  old  boy?" 

"Same  as  always.  And  how's  Jackie  Morton? 
You've  been  missing  for  months." 

"I've  a  wonderful  tale  to  unfold  —  but  no  time 
to  unfold  it  now." 

There  was  that  about  him  which  begot  an  instant 
liking,  though  his  face  was  not  as  strong  as  it  might 
have  been. 

"Say  —  you  won't  believe  it  —  but  listen.  I  Ve 
been  on  the  wagon  for  seventeen  weeks!" 

"No!" 

"Give  you  my  word!  Not  a  drop  in  seventeen 
ages!  Had  to,  you  know.  My  old  man  —  say,  he's 
one  old  battleship!  —  steamed  into  New  York  and 
shut  off  supplies,  and  said  unless  I  cut  it  all  out 
and  took  a  brace,  there 'd  be  no  more  shipments 
of  munitions.  Get  the  situation,  don't  you?  —  case 
of  a  sixteen-inch  gun  shoved  into  my  face  and  bein' 
told  it  would  go  off  if  I  did  n't  reform.  So  look  and  be 
hold  and  observe  what's  happened —  I  'm  reformed! 
Been  off  where  milk  's  all  they  shove  'cross  the  bar 
—  isolated,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing  —  and  been 
behavin'  in  a  way  to  make  the  Ten  Commandments 
jealous.  Honest  to  God,  Clifford — " 

Abruptly  he  checked  this  effervescence.  "Say, 
seen  Peter  Loveman  about  here?" 

"He's  just  gone." 

"Alone?" 

15 


MARY   REGAN 

14 1  believe  there  was  a  young  lady  with  him,"  Clif 
ford  replied  discreetly  —  wondering  a  little  what 
young  Morton's  business,  if  any,  could  be  with  the 
pair  that  had  left. 

Morton  hesitated;  then  again  was  effervescent. 
"Was  to  have  met  him  here  —  but  there's  no  tellin' 
where  he  is.  Come  on  —  let's  have  a  drink." 

"But  you  are  on  the  wagon." 

"  I  am.  But  I  want  to  give  you  the  grand  sight  of 
watchin'  me  fall  off." 

"You  sit  tight  right  where  you  are,"  advised 
Clifford. 

"  Now,  come  on,  don't  block  traffic  with  a  funeral," 
pleaded  the  young  fellow,  slipping  an  arm  through 
Clifford's.  "Just  one  drink!"  Clifford  shook  his 
head ;  and  Morton  tried  to  draw  him  into  the  restau 
rant.  "Just  one  little  drink,  Clifford,  —  one  little 
drink  after  a  Sahara  of  milk!" 

"Mr.  Morton!"  a  deep,  brusque  voice  called  from 
behind  them. 

They  turned.  A  man,  square  of  shoulders  and 
deep  of  chest  and  with  square,  forceful  face,  was 
advancing  toward  them. 

"Hello,  Clifford,"  he  said. 

"Hello,  Bradley,"  Clifford  returned,  trying  to 
speak  calmly  —  and  for  the  briefest  space  these  old 
enemies,  who  had  so  often  been  at  grips,  stared  at 
each  other,  with  hard,  masked  gazes. 

Bradley  turned  to  Clifford's  companion.  "So 
you  tried  to  give  me  the  slip,  Mr.  Morton.  I  heard 

16 


MARY  REGAN 

what  you  suggested  to  Clifford.  But  I  guess  you  are 
keeping  off  the  booze  to-night." 

"Just  look  this  large  person  over,  Clifford," 
mourned  the  young  fellow;  "and  honest,  ain't  it 
hell,  my  father  wishing  a  party  like  Bradley  on  me 
for  a  nurse!" 

"You  need  one  all  right!"  Bradley  said  grimly. 

"But  even  babies  get  let  alone  for  an  hour  now 
and  then,"  protested  the  other. 

"You  forget  that  the  size  of  my  check  from  your 
father  depends  upon  my  keeping  you  and  booze 
apart." 

Morton  sighed.  "You  Ye  a  sordid  person,  Brad- 
ley." 

"I  might  mention  incidentally,"  continued  Brad 
ley,  "that  your  father  has  just  come  to  town." 

"The  devil!"  Morton's  face  filled  with  dismay. 
"I  guess,  then,  it  really  is  good-night,  Clifford." 
He  took  Bradley 's  arm.  "Come  on,  nursie;  let's 
hail  the  captain  of  my  perambulator." 

Clifford  watched  the  two  go  out,  and  again  he  had 
the  sense  that  he  was  glimpsing  into  the  compli 
cated  maze  behind  the  brilliant  surface  of  Big  Pleas 
ure.  The  relationship  between  that  pair  might  be 
strange  for  any  other  period  in  the  world's  history, 
but  it  was  a  definite,  though  small,  phase  of  this 
great  pleasure  life  —  a  gay  young  spender  bridled 
and  the  reins  put  in  the  hands  of  a  private  officer. 
Clifford  felt  a  moment's  uneasiness  for  young  Mor 
ton:  in  what  ways  could  Bradley  not  twist  his  client 

17 


MARY  REGAN 

and  protlge  into  predicaments  that  would  bring 
him  profit? 

When  Clifford  regained  his  table,  Uncle  Gecr^c 
regarded  him  with  amazement.  "  I  thought  you  had 
gone!" 

"Gone  where?" 

"With  or  after  Miss  Regan." 

"Why?" 

"  I  thought  you  were  —  well,  I  guess  you  get  me. 
That  being  the  case,  I  did  n't  think  you  'd  pass  up 
the  chance  to  be  with  her." 

Clifford  hesitated,  then  spoke  the  truth:  "The 
last  time  I  saw  Mary  Regan,  I  promised  not  to  speak 
to  her  until  she  sent  for  me." 

"And  it  was  your  promise  that  stopped  you?" 
Uncle  George  asked  incredulously. 

"Yes." 

"You  poor  simp!  I  suppose  you  thought  she'd 
be  thinking  of  you,  only  you,  with  you  out  of  her 
sight  for  six  months  —  and  that  then  there 'd  come 
a  sweet  little  message  like  them  they  flash  on  the 
movie  screens!" 

Clifford  did  not  reply.  Uncle  George  had  very 
nearly  expressed  his  thought. 

"No  woman  ever  lived  that  could  keep  thinking 
of  one  man  for  six  months,  and  him  away!"  Uncle 
George  leaned  closer,  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice.  "See 
here,  son, — while  you've  been  keeping  your  promise 
and  remaining  strictly  off  the  premises,  what  do  you 
think  the  other  people  have  been  doing?" 

18 


MARY  REGAN 

"What  other  people?"  cried  Clifford,  in  quick 
alarm. 

Uncle  George  ignored  the  question.  "You  think 
you  Ve  been  an  influence  upon  her.  Mebbe  so,  son. 
Mebbe  so.  But  she  was  twenty,  and  two  or  three 
more,  before  you  ever  saw  her.  Don't  you  think 
those  twenty  years  might  have  some  influence  with 
her,  too?" 

"What  other  people?"  repeated  Clifford. 

Again  Uncle  George  ignored  the  question.  He 
looked  at  Clifford  keenly,  and  spoke  slowly. 

"  'While  ago  you  asked  me  why  I  wanted  to  meet 
you  here.  Well,  son,  my  chief  reason  was  because 
I  knew  Mary  Regan  was  going  to  be  here  —  and 
because  I  thought,  on  seeing  her,  you'd  wade  right 
into  the  situation." 

"See  here,  George,  what  do  you  know?"  Clifford 
cried  sharply. 

"Mighty  little  that's  definite,  —  and  telling  you 
that  would  be  giving  people  away,  and  that  fs  against 
my  principles,  —  and,  besides,  the  little  I  know 
might  only  be  misleading.  But,  son,"  —  the  old 
man's  voice  was  grave,  —  "if  you're  at  all  inter 
ested  in  that  girl,  you  sure  ought  to  be  busy.  And 
that's  all  I  can  say." 

Abruptly  Clifford  stood  up.  "Thanks,  Uncle 
George,  —  good-bye  — "  And  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  III 

PETER  LOVEMAN 

CLIFFORD'S  first  business  was  to  make  up  for  the 
opportunity  he  had  just  let  slip,  and  find  Mary 
Regan.  At  once  he  decided  that  his  best  source  of 
information  was  her  brother,  "Slant- Face,"  once 
a  pickpocket  of  amazing  skill,  now  the  manager  of 
a  little  motion-picture  house.  He  turned  uptown  to 
Slant-Face's  theater. 

On  the  way  he  was  feverishly  alive  with  ques 
tions.  Clifford's  thoughts  had  really  not  been  off 
Mary  Regan  from  the  moment  he  had  seen  her  come 
down  the  stairway ;  and  now  Uncle  George's  vague 
warning  —  he  knew  Uncle  George  would  not  have 
spoken  even  so  indefinitely  unless  there  existed  a 
very  real  situation  —  banished  all  else  from  his  mind. 
Why  had  n't  Mary  Regan  sent  him  word?  What  was 
behind  her  return  in  such  a  manner?  What  decision 
had  she  come  to  in  regard  to  herself  during  these 
months?  What  decision  in  regard  to  him? 

And  this  danger  that  Uncle  George  had  hinted  at 
—  did  it  rise  chiefly  from  the  plans  and  influence 
of  other  persons?  And  who  might  these  other  persons 
be?  And  what  might  be  the  danger?  Or  might  the 
danger  rise  partly  out  of  the  complexities,  the  contra 
dictions,  of  her  own  nature?  —  that  nature  which  had 

20 


MARY  REGAN 

always  so  baffled  and  eluded  him.  But  the  doubt 
which  lay  behind  this  last  question  seemed  disloyal, 
and  he  forcibly  drove  it  from  his  mind.  Mary  Regan, 
he  emphatically  told  himself,  was  the  woman  he 
had  believed  her  to  be!  She  could  explain  every 
thing.  Whatever  might  be  wrong  was  due  to  the 
unknown  other  persons. 

Slant-Face's  theater,  though  the  hour  was  only 
ten,  was  dark.  He  hurried  to  Slant-Face's  apart 
ment;  but  Slant-Face  was  not  there,  and  his  wife 
knew  nothing  of  his  whereabouts.  Downtown  again, 
Clifford  began  a  tour  of  Slant- Face's  hang-outs;  and 
at  length  he  found  him  standing  alone  at  the  end  of 
the  Knickerbocker  bar,  before  him  a  glass  of  but 
ter-milk  —  a  slender,  smartly  dressed  person,  whose 
immobile,  lean  face  was  given  a  saturnine  cast  by 
the  downward  slant  of  the  left  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"I  saw  your  theater  was  closed,  Slant-Face,"  said 
Clifford.  "What's  the  matter?" 

"Bradley." 

"Bradley!  How  could  he  have  anything  to  do 
with  closing  your  theater?" 

"Bradley  hasn't  forgot  my  little  part  in  your 
stunt  that  got  him  out  of  the  Department.  He  just 
waited  —  and  laid  his  plans.  While  films  were  being 
run  off  and  the  house  was  dark,  he  had  pockets  picked 
in  my  place,  or  had  people  say  their  pockets  were 
picked  —  pulled  this  three  times.  What  with  my 
reputation,  this  was  enough  for  the  Commissioner 
of  Licenses,  and  he  closed  my  joint," 

21 


MARY  REGAN 

"That's  pretty  rank.  Bradley  certainly  does  have 
a  long  memory  —  and  a  long  arm ! " 

"This  is  a  five-reel  picture,  and  it's  not  all  been 
run  off  yet,"  half  growled  Slant-Face  through  his 
thin  lips.  "In  the  last  reel,  some  one  is  going  to  get 
him!"  He  sipped  his  buttermilk,  then  abruptly: 
"Clifford,  because  of  what  you've  done  for  me,  I've 
played  it  straight  for  a  year.  The  straight  game 
don't  pay  —  not  for  me.  So  I  'm  through.  I  guess 
you  understand  what  comes  next." 

"See  here,  Slant-Face,  don't  be  — " 

"I'm  through!"  There  was  the  snap  of  absolute 
finality  in  the  low,  quiet  voice. 

Clifford  knew  that  mere  words  could  not  change 
the  decision  made  behind  that  lean,  grim  visage;  so 
he  turned  to  the  matter  that  had  brought  him  there. 

"Have  you  seen  your  sister  to-day?" 

"Have  n't  seen  Mary  in  six  months." 

"You  mean  you  don't  know  where  she 's  staying?  " 
exclaimed  Clifford. 

"Down  South  in  the  woods  somewhere,  —  God 
knows  why,  —  doing  a  stretch  of  self-imposed  soli 
tary." 

The  obviously  honest  answer  sharpened  Clifford's 
already  poignant  uneasiness.  "Slant- Face,  I  saw  her 
an  hour  ago." 

"In  New  York?" 

"At  the  Grand  Alcazar."  And  then  he  added: 
"She  was  with  Peter  Loveman." 

Even  the  stoic  Slant-Face  started.  "With  Peter 

22 


MARY  REGAN 

Loveman!  —  the  lawyer  that  beat  Bradley's  case 
for  him!   What  the  devil  does  that  mean?" 

"Just  what  I'm  wondering  myself." 

"You  mean  you  didn't  ask  her  anything  — 
did  n't  speak  to  her?" 

"No." 

Slant- Face  looked  his  bewilderment.  He  had  had 
his  own  private  guess  at  what  had  been  the  situa 
tion  between  Clifford  and  his  sister.  But  he  did  not 
ask  the  "why"  of  this  to  him  strange  behaviour  on 
Clifford's  part. 

"Mary  with  Peter  Loveman!"  he  repeated. 
"Either  Mary  is  trying  to  put  something  across  — 
in  the  old  way,  you  understand ;  or  else  she 's  —  well, 
it  looks  like  queer  doings  to  me!" 

"That's  why  I  looked  you  up.  Some  one  should 
step  in,  and  stop  what's  under  way.  I  supposed 
you  knew  where  she  was." 

"I'm  going  to  begin  to  try  to  find  out,"  said 
Slant-Face.  "And  you?" 

"Same  here.  By  the  way,  would  your  Uncle  Joe 
know  anything?" 

"Didn't  you  know?  He's  sold  out  everything 
here  and  bought  himself  a  fruit  farm  in  California." 

"Then  there's  just  one  man  we're  certain  does 
know.  That's  Loveman,  and  I'm  going  after  Love 
man.  Let  me  know  if  you  get  next  to  anything, 
Slant-Face.  So-long." 

Clifford  and  the  once  master  pickpocket  clasped 
hands. 

23 


MARY  REGAN 

"And  Slant-Face,"  Clifford  added,  "about  that 
other  matter  —  getting  money  in  the  old  way. 
Don't  do  it." 

"I'm  not  promising,"  said  Slant-Face  quietly. 

Clifford  privately  asked  Police  Commissioner 
Thorne  to  help  in  locating  Mary  Regan.  Also  he 
hunted  up  little  Lieutenant  Jimmie  Kelly,  one  hun 
dred  and  twenty  pounds  of  grit  and  daring,  head  of 
the  Tenderloin  Squad  that  free-lanced  through  the 
hotels,  restaurants,  and  resorts  of  Broadway,  and  of 
Jimmie  he  asked  the  same  help.  He  himself,  for  two 
days  and  nights,  now  and  then  seeing  Uncle  George 
and  Slant-Face,  trailed  Peter  Loveman  from  office  to 
courts  and  back  again  —  and  particularly  about  the 
restaurants  and  theaters  and  after-theater  theaters, 
which  comprised  Loveman's  especial  habitat. 

But  not  again  did  Clifford  see  Loveman  with 
Mary  Regan.  The  second  night,  however,  he  did  see 
Loveman  with  young  Morton,  and  with  the  two 
a  middle-aged  man  with  a  masterful  face.  Morton's 
father,  Clifford  guessed. 

And  yet,  though  he  saw  nothing,  all  his  senses 
assured  him  with  growing  insistence  that  great 
forces  were  at  their  hidden  work — those  subtle,  com 
plex  forces  that  operate  indirectly,  patiently,  with 
infinite  cunning,  behind  the  alluring  and  often  inno 
cent  visage  of  brilliant  Big  Pleasure.  And  also  he  had 
a  growing  sense  that  this  was  not  primarily  a  detec 
tive's  puzzle;  but  primarily  a  matter  of  the  eternal 
human  mystery  of  how  human  beings  react,  and 

24 


MARY  REGAN 

how  they  may  be  artfully  stimulated.  He  felt  him 
self  just  a  human  being  in  the  midst  of  a  human  prob 
lem  whose  outlines  he  could  not  yet  discern. 

On  the  third  day  of  failure  it  came  to  Clifford  that 
there  was  a  chance  —  a  bare  chance  —  that  Love- 
man  had  no  design  involving  Mary  Regan,  and  he 
decided  to  go  openly  to  him.  At  Loveman's  lavish 
downtown  offices  he  was  told  Loveman  had  tele 
phoned  he  would  not  appear  that  morning.  Twenty 
minutes  later  Clifford,  after  having  sent  in  his  card 
by  the  Japanese  butler-valet,  was  in  Loveman's 
study.  The  room,  the  studio  of  an  apartment  de 
signed  for  an  artist,  was  furnished  with  a  disor 
dered  luxury  and  culture  which  Clifford  knew  to  be 
a  genuine  characteristic  of  the  strange  little  notable 
on  whom  he  waited.  Here  were  rows  and  rows  of  first 
editions;  old  Dutch  etchings,  among  them  several 
original  Rembrandts ;  a  helter-skelter  gallery  of  auto 
graphed  photographs  of  favorite  actresses.  For  a 
score  of  years,  as  Clifford  knew,  Loveman  had  not 
missed  an  important  first  night. 

Whatever  might  be  the  outcome  of  this  interview, 
Clifford  knew  that  sometime,  somehow,  between 
him  and  Loveman  there  would  be  a  conflict  of  wits. 
So  he  looked  swiftly  and  curiously  around  the  room, 
for  concerning  this  room  there  were  current  many 
fables.  This  study,  and  not  the  downtown  office,  was 
said  to  be  Loveman's  real  workshop.  Here  were 
created  those  astute  plans,  in  which  the  influence 
of  Loveman  was  never  traceable,  that  brought  to  his 

25 


MARY  REGAN 

downtown  office  those  big-fee'd  domestic  cases,  to 
be  fought  brilliantly  and  sensationally  in  the  courts 
or  to  be  settled  discreetly  in  private.  He  was  New 
York's  ablest  representative  of  a  type  of  lawyer  that 
modern  social  conditions  have  produced :  a  specialist 
in  domestic  affairs  —  and  one,  when  profitable  dis 
sension  or  threatening  scandal  did  not  exist,  who 
knew  how  to  create  such.  It  was  gossiped  that  he 
kept  a  careful  record  of  all  tangled  relations  among 
the  rich,  of  the  details  of  every  delicate  situation, 
and  watched  and  bided  his  time  until  at  length  the 
affair  threatened  to  explode  into  a  scandal  —  and 
then  he  acted.  In  this  study  there  was  a  huge 
"Scandal  File,"  so  gossip  had  it;  but  Clifford,  look 
ing  about,  saw  no  such  fabled  article  of  furniture. 

At  that  moment  Loveman  entered,  his  tonsured 
head  and  rope-girdled  dressing-gown  giving  him 
the  appearance  of  a  somewhat  jolly  and  rakish 
monk. 

"Good-morning,  Clifford,"  he  exclaimed,  cordially 
holding  out  his  hand.  "Mightily  like  a  Christian  of 
you,  looking  an  old  tramp  up." 

"They  told  me  at  your  office  that  you  were  sick." 

Loveman  waved  Clifford  into  a  chair,  took  one 
himself  and  crossed  his  small,  exquisitely  slippered 
feet.  "That's  what  I  told  the  office,  but  I  did  n't  tell 
'em  what  sort  of  sickness  it  was.  My  boy,"  —  with 
a  frank,  engaging  grin,  which  was  one  of  the  many 
qualities  that  made  this  strange  man  so  popular,  — 
"do  you  perceive  any  adequate  excuse  for  a  man  of 

26 


MARY  REGAN 

my  supposedly  sensible  years  starting  in  at  11.30 
P.M.  on  a  mixed-drink  Marathon?" 

"I  can't  say,"  smiled  Clifford,  "without  a  knowl 
edge  of  the  prior  —  " 

"Don't  be  legally  cautious  with  an  incautious 
lawyer.  There  was  no  excuse."  Loveman  shook  his 
round  head  solemnly.  "There  was  provocation, 
though.  You  bet  there  was  provocation.  Were  you 
at  the  opening  last  night  of  'Orange  Blossoms'?" 

"No." 

"Congratulations.  It's  a  dam' rotten  show!  And 
Nina  Cordova  —  she 's  all  there  off  the  stage,  pretty, 
and  clever,  and  one  wise  little  girl,  don't  you  forget 
it !  —  but  a  dam'  rotten  star  and  the  voice  of  a  guinea- 
hen  that's  got  the  quinsy.  And  it  cost  sixty  thou 
sand  dollars  to  get  the  curtain  up  last  night,  and  I 
put  up  twenty  thousand  dollars  of  that  boodle.  Tell 
me,  oh,  why"  —  with  a  quaver  of  mock  self-sym 
pathy  —  "am  I  always  going  out  of  my  own  line  and 
letting  myself  be  played  as  a  sucker  by  some  man 
ager  or  actress  that  wants  extra  backing?  Twenty 
thousand  honest- to-God  dollars !  I  kissed  'em  good 
bye  the  very  minute  Nina  first  opened  that  dam' 
pretty  mouth,  and  her  first  note  rasped  across  the 
footlights!  Ain't  I  the  boob!" 

Clifford  smiled  at  the  grotesquely  disconsolate 
figure,  but  did  not  answer;  he  knew  no  answer  was 
expected.  But  while  he  smiled,  waiting,  part  of  his 
brain  was  remarking  that  these  seemingly  reckless 
ventures  of  Loveman  were  in  truth  sound  invest- 

27 


MARY  REGAN 

ments  on  which,  by  the  devious  methods  or  his  art, 
he  later  realized  sumptuously.  That  twenty  thou 
sand,  which  would  make  the  vain  Nina  regard  him 
as  her  disinterested  friend  and  adviser,  was  n't 
money  thrown  away  —  not  in  view  of  the  whispered 
affair  between  the  voiceless  prima  donna,  and  — 

"Why  should  I  be  blowing  my  roll,"  continued 
Loveman,  "on  these  dam'  musical  comedies  — musi 
cal,  say  there 's  some  irony  for  you !  —  when  what  I  'd 
have  liked  would  have  been  to  help  back  a  show  like 
'Justice.'  Or  the  Russian  ballet.  Nijinsky  —  there's 
some  artist  for  you!"  His  last  words  were  vividly 
sincere;  there  was  nothing  more  sincere  about  the 
little  man  than  his  admiration  for  the  highest  en 
deavors  in  art.  "And  yet  my  coin  goes  into  'Orange 
Blossoms'!  Is  there  an  artistic  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr. 
Hyde?  —  there  is,  and  I 'm  the  party  —  and  that's 
why  my  stomach,  esophagus,  palate,  tongue,  mouth, 
and  all  appertaining  thereunto,  are  this  A.M.  com 
posed  of  a  faded  and  dusty  Brussels  carpet.  But, 
my  boy,  you  did  n't  come  here  to  listen  to  my  woes. 
What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

His  humorously  bewailing  manner  had  suddenly 
dropped  from  him ;  he  was  brisk  and  alert,  and  his 
over-large  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Clifford  keenly.  Clif 
ford  knew  that  there  was  little  chance  of  deceiving 
this  holder  of  the  threads  of  destiny  in  a  direct  en 
counter. 

"I  came  here,  Loveman,  to  ask  you  for  the  ad 
dress  of  Mary  Regan." 

28 


MARY  REGAN 

Loveman  looked  puzzled.  "Mary  Regan  —  do  I 
know  her?" 

Was  there  something  behind  this  evasion?  "You 
remember  her  if  you  remember  getting  Bradley  off. 
She  was  in  that  case." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember:  slender  —  dark  —  hand 
some.  But  I  have  n't  seen  her  since  the  trial." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  call  you  anything,  Loveman,  — 
but  I  was  told  you  were  recently  seen  with  her  in 
public." 

"Where?" 

"At  the  Grand  Alcazar  —  for  dinner  —  three 
nights  ago." 

Loveman  smiled.  "You've  caught  me.  I  own 
up.  But  my  fib  was  a  gentleman's  lie." 

"How  so?" 

"She  did  n't  want  it  known  that  she  was  in  New 
York." 

"Why  not?" 

"Search  me.    Perhaps  just  a  girl's  whim." 

"Do  you  know  where  I  can  find  her?" 

' '  Have  n't  the  slightest  idea.  I  was  with  her  more  or 
less  by  accident.  I  was  taking  care  of  her  merely  for 
a  couple  of  hours  —  substituting  for  a  friend  of  hers." 

Clifford  felt  sure  the  little  man  was  lying;  but  he 
also  felt  sure  he  could  get  out  of  Loveman  nothing 
Loveman  preferred  not  to  tell.  All  the  brains  of  the 
Bar  Association  had  not  been  able  to  do  this  when 
Loveman  had  been  before  that  body  on  charges  of 
unprofessional  conduct. 

29 


MARY  REGAN 

"By  the  by,  Clifford,  what's  your  interest  in  the 
young  lady?" 

"Her  family  heard  she  was  back,  and  engaged  me 
to  locate  her." 

Loveman,  looking  keenly  at  Clifford,  did  not  be 
tray  whether  or  not  he  recognized  this  as  prevarica 
tion.  Clifford  stood  up. 

"Well,  as  you  were  my  only  clue,  I  might  as  well 
give  the  matter  up.  Sorry  to  have  bothered  you. 
Good-morning." 

"Oh,  you'll  find  her  —  you  have  the  reputation  of 
doing  whatever  you  start  out  to  do.  Don't  hurry 
away.  I've  got  some  new  first  editions  I  want  to 
show  you.  But  pardon  me  for  just  a  moment."  He 
scratched  a  line  upon  a  sheet  of  paper,  rang,  and 
handed  the  folded  sheet  to  the  Japanese  butler,  who 
silently  withdrew.  " Now!"  he  cried  briskly,  and  be 
gan  to  talk  enthusiastically  over  half  a  dozen  stained 
and  musty  volumes. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  noiseless  butler  appeared, 
bearing  a  card.  Loveman  begged  Clifford  to  excuse 
him,  and  withdrew  —  to  reenter  in  five  minutes. 

"Something  rather  curious  has  just  happened, Clif 
ford .  A  gentleman  with  whom  I  Ve  had  some  deal 
ings  just  called  —  I  had  an  inspiration  —  I  made  a 
suggestion,  and  —  Well,  let  him  speak  for  himself. 
Come  right  in!" 

At  this,  through  the  door  Loveman  had  left  open, 
stepped  the  square,  solid  figure  of  Bradley. 

"I  believe  you  two  are  acquainted  with  each 

30 


MARY  REGAN 

other,"  remarked  Loveman  with  his  amiable  brisk 
ness. 

The  two  men  nodded,  and  for  a  moment  stood 
silent.  Clifford  tried  to  read  Bradley's  purpose,  but 
Bradley's  powerful  face,  with  its  small,  brilliant 
eyes,  was  as  controlled  and  reticent  as  in  the  days, 
now  over  a  year  gone,  when  Bradley  used  to  give 
him  orders  at  Police  Headquarters. 

"H'are  you,  Clifford."  The  voice  was  the  same 
even,  heavy  bass. 

"First-class,  Bradley." 

"Chairs,  gentlemen,"  put  in  Loveman;  and  when 
they  were  seated:  "Shall  I  say  it,  Bradley,  or  will 
you?" 

"  I'll  say  it."  Without  preface,  or  reference  to  the 
past,  Bradley  was  in  the  midst  of  things.  "I'm 
building  up  a  big  business,  Clifford.  Another  year  or 
so,  and  it'll  be  the  biggest  private  detective  agency 
in  the  country.  It's  already  getting  too  big  for  one 
man  to  manage;  besides,  there  are  certain  kinds  of 
cases  that  another  man  can  handle  better  than  I  can. 
I  Ve  been  looking  over  the  field  for  the  right  man. 
Clifford,  I  Ve  decided  you  're  this  right  man,  and  I 
want  to  ask  you  if  you  'd  be  willing  to  go  into  part 
nership." 

"Don't  speak  yet  —  think  it  over  for  a  minute," 
put  in  Loveman.  "You  two  have  had  your  little 
differences,  but  it  ought  to  be  plain  to  both  of  you 
that  there's  more  in  it  for  you  two  working  together 
than  fighting  each  other." 

31 


MARY  REGAN 

Clifford  managed  to  maintain  a  composed  ex 
terior,  but  within  he  was  bewilderment.  Certainly 
Bradley  was  a  most  amazing  man! 

Clifford  thought  swiftly,  if  somewhat  dazedly. 
Was  this  a  trap?  It  might  be  —  probably  was,  in 
view  of  what  had  previously  passed  between  them. 

But  then  again  —  it  might  not  be  a  trap.  Brad- 
ley's  offer,  on  the  face  of  it,  was  a  good  business 
proposition,  advantageous  to  both  parties.  It  was 
a  commonplace  of  business  and  politics  and  police 
affairs,  that  competitors  and  even  deadly  enemies 
may  scratch  the  past  off  the  books  and  combine  in  a 
common  effort  when  they  vision  a  profit  sufficiently 
large  in  such  a  procedure. 

And  profit  there  certainly  would  be  in  Bradley's 
proposition  —  big  profit.  First,  would  be  the  original 
profit  of  the  large  fees  which  clients  would  pay  to 
have  information  secured  for  them.  And  second,  — 
if  the  agency  were  to  be  run  as  most  other  private 
detective  agencies,  and  on  this  Bradley  would  doubt 
less  insist,  —  there  would  be  the  usual  large  profits 
secured  through  the  pleasant  and  easy  device  of 
blackmailing  clients  by  threatening  to  reveal  to  the 
public  the  scandals  they  had  been  paid  privately  to 
uncover  and  corroborate.  Beyond  a  doubt,  tre 
mendous  profits! 

Yes,  it  might  not  be  a  trap.  It  might  be  just  a 
a  plain  business  proposition.  It  might  be  — 

Another  thought:    It  might  be  a  bribe! 

Yes,  whatever  else  it  might  be,  it  also  was  cer- 

32 


MARY  REGAN 

tainly  a  bribe.  But  to  buy  him  away  from  what? 
.  .  .  From  what?  .  .  . 

"It's  a  good  proposition — yes?"  prompted  Love- 
man. 

Though  Clifford  had  taken  time  to  think,  his  de 
cision  had  been  made  the  very  moment  he  had  under 
stood  Bradley's  proposition. 

"As  you  say,  Bradley,  there's  big  money  in  it, 
and  it's  a  great  chance  for  the  right  party.  I  want 
to  thank  you  for  considering  me  and  offering  me 
the  chance.  But  I  never  expect  to  build  up  a  big 
business,  and  such  cases  as  I  do  take  on  I  want  to 
handle  personally  and  in  my  own  way." 

Bradley's  square  face  showed  not  the  slightest 
change.  "That's  your  privilege,  to  do  things  the 
way  you  like.  Glad  I  spoke  to  you  about  it,  though." 

"That's  another  good  inspiration  I  had  that's 
gone  on  the  rocks,"  humorously  complained  Love- 
man —  "as  bum  a  guesser  here  as  when  I  backed 
Nina  Cordova  in  'Orange  Blossoms.""  He  followed 
Clifford  to  the  door,  a  hand  upon  his  arm.  "Any 
how,  I  may  want  to  be  shoving  some  business  your 
way." 

"Thanks."  Clifford  nodded  to  Bradley,  and  Brad 
ley  nodded  back,  his  face  the  same  grim  mask  as 
ever. 


CHAPTER  IV 

AS   MARY   SEES  HERSELF 

As  Clifford  went  out  it  seemed  to  him,  for  the  mo 
ment,  that  his  efforts  thus  far  had  resulted  only  in 
bringing  him  into  contact  with  affairs  far  removed 
from  his  main  business.  But  the  next  moment  ex 
perience  reminded  him  that  nothing  in  life  was  ir 
relevant.  Might  not  these  seemingly  unrelated  frag 
ments  be  revealed  as  closely  articulated  parts  of  a 
great  drama  of  life  whose  working-out  lay  in  the 
unvisioned  future? 

Anyhow,  he  had  new  questions  to  put  to  himself. 
What  was  behind  Loveman's  suave  statement  that 
he  knew  nothing  of  Mary  Regan?  And  what  behind 
Bradley 's  offer  of  partnership?  They  meant  some 
thing:  and  the  more  Clifford  thought,  the  more  was 
he  convinced  that  Loveman  was  in  whatever  busi 
ness  might  be  brewing;  and  since  Loveman  was  in  it, 
it  was  safely  and  adroitly  based  upon  the  weakness, 
vanity,  or  ambition  of  our  common  human  nature. 

The  sense,  though  he  had  little  definite  basis  for  it, 
that  Mary  was  vitally  concerned  in  this  impene 
trable  business,  that  she  was  perhaps  the  chief  vic 
tim  of  its  hidden  workings  and  of  its  dangers,  grew 
in  Clifford  with  every  moment.  He  simply  had  to 
find  her! 

34 


MARY  REGAN 

Hoping  against  hope,  Clifford  daily  expected  a 
note  from  Mary  Regan  —  for  he  could  not  wholly 
discount  her  promise  —  but  no  note  came.  And 
though  Uncle  George,  Slant-Face,  and  Lieutenant 
Jimmie  Kelly,  in  their  divers  manners,  were  all  look 
ing  for  Mary,  none  during  the  next  four  days  re 
ported  a  trace  of  her.  Nor  did  Commissioner  Thorne, 
with  his  larger  resources,  turn  up  a  single  clue.  She 
seemed  to  have  vanished  utterly. 

All  these  days  Clifford  himself  kept  doggedly  to 
the  tedious  routine  of  centering  his  personal  en 
deavors  upon  Peter  Loveman  —  following  that  dap 
per  gentleman  from  home  to  office,  to  court-rooms, 
to  restaurants  on  Broadway  or  the  Avenue  for  his 
substitute  for  afternoon  tea,  to  his  home  again  to 
dress,  then  to  the  long  evening's  schedule  of  pleas 
ures  —  taking  rest  only  during  the  periods  when 
Loveman  was  held  in  court,  or  during  the  five  hours 
between  three  and  8  A.M.  that  Loveman  allowed 
himself  for  sleep. 

On  the  seventh  afternoon,  while  Loveman  was 
tied  up  in  court,  and  while  Clifford  was  spending  an 
hour  at  home,  a  note  was  delivered  him  by  messen 
ger.  It  read :  — 

See  me  at  headquarters  at  your  earliest  convenience. 

THORNE. 

Clifford  considered.  Then  he  sent  back  the  mes 
sage,  "Will  try  to  come  at  five."  It  was  now  three 
o'clock;  Loveman  would  be  out  of  court  at  half- 

35 


MARY  REGAN 

past  three  or  four.  He  had  decided  that  the  best 
procedure  was  to  follow  Loveman  from  court  to  club 
or  restaurant,  and  then  if  the  lawyer  seemed  settled, 
as  usually  was  the  case,  he  could  safely  slip  down 
to  Police  Read  quarters. 

At  four  o'clock  Clifford  saw  Loveman  leave  the 
Criminal  Courts  Building  and  step  into  the  closed 
car  he  had  seen  Loveman  and  Mary  Regan  enter 
seven  nights  earlier  in  front  of  the  Grand  Alcazar. 
Clifford,  at  a  discreet  distance,  followed  in  a  taxi. 
The  big  car,  after  twisting  about  through  the  region 
of  clubs  and  restaurants,  deposited  Loveman  be 
fore  a  great  hotel  on  Fifth  Avenue,  The  Grantham. 
Clifford,  following  him  in,  saw  Loveman  address 
the  perfect  young  blonde  who  sat  at  a  switchboard 
within  a  grilled  enclosure,  wait  while  the  blonde  an 
nounced  his  name  through  the  telephone,  then  saw 
him  make  for  the  elevators. 

Clifford  waited  several  minutes,  then  himself  ap 
proached  the  deity  of  the  switchboard.  "I  want  to 
get  in  touch  with  Mr.  Loveman  at  once,  and  I  be 
lieve  he's  calling  here." 

"Yes,  on  Mrs.  Gardner  —  twelfth  floor,  Apart 
ment  M.  Shall  I  'phone  up  you're  here?" 

"I  guess  I'll  not  interrupt  him.  I'll  catch  him 
when  he  comes  down."  The  blonde,  Clifford  had  at 
once  divined,  was  the  sort  not  averse  to  talk.  "I 
wonder  if  this  is  the  Mrs.  Gardner  I  know,"  he  said 
easily.  "What's  she  like?" 

"Never  really  seen  her,"  returned  the  blonde. 

36 


MARY  REGAN 

"Has  all  her  meals  in  her  suite.  Goes  out  only  at 
night  —  about  nine,  when  everything 's  dead  here  — 
just  for  an  hour's  motor  ride.  She's  always  in  black, 
and  veiled.  Guess  she's  a  widow." 

A  little  more  chat  and  Clifford  drifted  into  the 
hotel  bar,  from  which  he  could  watch  the  elevators. 
He  sipped  his  Vichy  with  a  casual,  lounging  air  that 
required  his  best  acting.  Could  that  Mrs.  Gardner 
be  Mary  Regan?  And  if  she  was  Mary  Regan,  was 
she  also  truly  Mrs.  Gardner? 

Half  an  hour  passed;  then  Loveman  came  out  of 
one  of  the  elevators.  Clifford  had  a  moment's  fear 
that  the  blonde  would  tell  him  that  a  caller  had  made 
inquiry  for  him;  but  the  blonde  was  answering  the 
questions  of  a  guest  and  did  not  see  Loveman  go  out. 
Clifford  allowed  a  few  more  minutes  to  pass,  then  he 
approached  the  blonde's  cage  with  a  brisk  air. 

"There's  something  Mr.  Loveman  forgot  to  say 
to  Mrs.  Gardner,  and  he  asked  me  to  come  back 
and  tell  her.  Just  say  it's  Mr.  Loveman  calling 
again." 

The  girl  spoke  through  the  telephone  as  directed  ; 
then,  "You're  to  go  right  up." 

Tingling  with  suspense,  Clifford  shot  up  to  the 
twelfth  floor  and  rang  the  bell  of  Apartment  M. 
The  door  was  promptly  opened,  and  without  waiting, 
for  the  maid  to  cry  a  warning  because  of  this  sud 
denly  altered  Mr.  Loveman,  Clifford  walked  quickly 
past  her  through  a  little  hallway  into  a  sitting-room. 
At  a  window,  looking  down  into  the  Avenue  stood  a 

37 


MARY  REGAN 

slender  figure  in  a  gown  of  gold-brown  chiffon  velvet, 
softly  touched  with  fur.   She  was  Mary  Regan. 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Loveman,"  she  said,  not  turning. 
And  then  after  a  pause  she  added  a  bit  impatiently, 
but  in  that  distant,  composed  tone  she  had  so  often 
used  toward  him  in  other  days:  "Well,  what  else 
is  there?  Have  n't  I  already  promised  to  follow 
your  instructions  in  every  detail?" 

Clifford  did  not  reply,  and  his  silence  caused  her 
to  turn.  At  sight  of  him  the  tint  of  autumn  rose 
left  her  dark  face. 

"Mr.  Clifford!"  she  breathed. 

"Good-afternoon — "  He  hesitated ;  the  last  time 
he  had  spoken  to  her,  six  months  before,  he  had  called 
her  Mary.  "Good-afternoon,  Miss  Regan." 

And  then  the  fear  that  was  in  him  caused  him 
quickly  to  add,  "Or  should  I  say  Mrs.  Gardner?" 

"I  am  still  Mary  Regan."  She  moved  nearer. 
"You  here!  The  name  you  sent  up  was  Mr.  Love 
man." 

"  I  used  Mr.  Loveman's  name  because  I  thought  if 
I  sent  my  own  you  would  refuse  to  see  me." 

"Why?" 

He  had  searched  her  out  primarily  to  learn  the 
danger  she  was  in  and  to  save  her  from  it,  but  here 
he  was  in  the  first  moment  speaking  of  himself,  "i 
reasoned  that  you  did  not  want  to  see  me  from  the 
fact  that  you  have  been  in  town  a  week  and  have 
sent  me  no  word.  And  I  thought,  after  your  prom 
ise—" 

38 


MARY  REGAN 

He  could  not  finish.  She  motioned  him  to  be  seated, 
herself  took  a  chair,  and  there  was  a  moment's  pause. 
Pale,  a  strained  composure  in  her  face,  she  was  won- 
drously  striking  in  the  gold-brown  velvet  with  its 
margin  of  fur;  she  seemed  to  have  matured,  yet  to 
have  grown  no  older;  and  never  before  had  she 
seemed  more  poignantly  desirable  to  him.  The  old 
questions  that  had  haunted  him  for  six  months, 
surged  up  and  he  was  almost  choked  with  the  im 
manence  of  the  answer  to  them.  Had  there  come 
the  change  that  they  had  talked  about?  Had  she 
reached  the  decision  that  he  had  so  long  been  waiting 
for? 

At  length  she  spoke,  and  the  contralto  warmth 
and  color  of  her  voice  were  subdued  to  a  neutral 
monotone.  "I  could  have  sent  you  word,"  she  said. 
"But  I  have  no  excuse  to  offer,  and  prefer  not  to 
explain." 

"You  know  what  I've  been  hoping  for  —  and 
waiting  for,"  he  said  with  difficulty.  "You  have  not 
forgotten  that  last  night  in  Washington  Square?" 

"  No.  And  you  have  not  forgotten  the  point  I  then 
insisted  upon  —  that  I  wanted  to  go  off,  alone,  to 
examine  myself  and  try  to  learn  whether  I  was 
really  the  sort  of  woman  you  declared  me  to  be." 

"  I  remember.  And  now  that  you  have  been  away, 
and  come  back?" 

Her  voice  was  steady.  "I  have  learned  I  am  not 
that  kind  of  woman." 

"No?" 

39 


MARY  REGAN 

"  I  have  learned  that  I  do  not  look  upon  life  — 
that  is  life  for  myself  —  in  the  way  you  thought  I 
would." 

"Just  what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  know  now  that  I  am  by  nature  more  worldly 
than  you  believed  me." 

He  grew  suddenly  sick  at  her  even  words.  "  I  was 
hoping  that  you  would  have  decided  that  you  cared 
for  me." 

"I  am  and  always  shall  be  grateful  to  you  for  the 
things  you  did  for  me,  and  I  shall  always  appreciate 
your  high  opinion  of  the  qualities  you  believed  to 
exist  in  me.  You  were  kind  and  generous  —  and  I 
shall  never  forget." 

" But  you  have  no  other  feeling  —  toward  me?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Then  this  is  final  —  as  far  as  my  hopes  are  con 
cerned,"  he  whispered  dryly.  He  was  dazed;  too 
dazed  to  note  that  she  had  grown  even  more  pale 
than  a  few  moments  before  and  that  her  hands  were 
gripping  folds  of  the  velvet  gown. 

Presently  he  tried  to  pull  himself  together.  He 
remembered  the  main  purpose  of  his  presence  here. 

"But  at  least  you  will  let  me  help  you?" 

"Certainly  —  if  I  need  you." 

He  leaned  closer.  "You  never  needed  me  more 
than  now!" 

"For  what  reason?" 

"You  are  in  danger  —  great  danger!" 

She  started,  and  gazed  at  him  with  a  sharp  pene- 

40 


MARY  REGAN 

tration  which  even  at  that  moment  struck  him  as 
peculiar.  "In  what  danger?" 

Her  question  took  him  back.  In  his  intensity  he 
had  forgotten  that  he  knew  so  little  that  was  definite. 

"I  thought  you  would  know,"  he  confessed.  And 
then,  with  a  ring  of  certainty,  "If  you  do  not  know 
yourself  to  be  in  danger,  then  why  are  you  in  hid 
ing?" 

She  ignored  his  last  sentence.  "  I  am  in  no  danger 
of  which  I  am  conscious." 

He  seized  upon  the  one  point  he  was  certain  of. 
"But  you  have  been  seeing  Peter  Loveman.  I  hope 
you  are  not  letting  him  get  control  of  your  affairs." 

"Mr.  Loveman  has  merely  been  giving  me  some 
friendly  advice.  He  is  a  very  able  lawyer." 

"There  is  no  abler  lawyer  in  New  York  than  Peter 
Loveman.  But  Peter  Loveman  cannot  be  trusted." 

"I  am  not  trusting  him  —  very  far."  She  spoke 
with  that  supreme  self-confidence  that  had  always 
characterized  her.  "And  I  believe  I  can  take  care  of 
myself."  This  last  she  added  coldly,  yet  not  unkindly. 

Clifford  felt  himself  baffled.  And  then,  suddenly, 
he  remembered  another  possible  source  of  danger  to 
her  —  or  at  least  of  danger  to  that  Mary  Regan  he 
had  believed  her  to  be.  Could  she,  as  the  worldly- 
wise  old  Uncle  George  had  suggested,  have  felt  the 
pull  of  old  associations,  old  points  of  view,  and  have 
reverted  — 

But  even  as  he  was  thinking  of  this,  she  with  her 
remarkable  keenness  had  read  his  mind.  "Don't 

41 


MARY  REGAN 

worry  about  that.  I  have  no  intention  of  going  back 
to  the  sort  of  things  I  once  tried  to  do,  and  you 
stopped  me  from  doing." 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  he  said  simply.  And  then  he 
added,  "But  still  I  feel  you  are  in  some  great  vague 
danger." 

"What?"  she  queried  as  before.  "  I  am  here  of  my 
own  choice.  I  go  and  come  as  I  please.  Whatever 
I  may  now  be  doing  I  do  of  my  own  free  will." 

"Then  you  have  a  plan?" 

She  was  silent  a  long  moment,  all  the  while  gazing 
at  him  steadily.  Then  she  replied,  "I  have." 

"May  I  ask  what  it  is?" 

"You  have  earned  the  right.  As  Robert  Clifford, 
the  man,  you  might  not  approve  of  it.  As  Robert 
Clifford,  detective,  you  can  find  nothing  wrong. 
Beyond  this  I  can  tell  you  nothing  —  now." 

He  felt  shut  out  —  placed  at  a  far  distance  —  and 
felt  the  dizzy  sickness  once  more  come  on  him.  He 
had  met  her  again,  after  long  waiting,  after  long 
search  —  and  this  was  the  poor  ending  of  it  all ! 

He  saw  her  glance  furtively  at  a  gilded  clock.  Awk 
wardly  he  arose. 

"I've  kept  you  too  long,"  he  mumbled. 

She  made  no  polite  denial,  but  also  stood  up.  He 
started  out  —  and  found  he  could  not  go. 

He  turned.  "Please  tell  me  two  other  things. 
First,  why  are  you  in  hiding?" 

"That  I  must  be  excused  from  answering." 

"Is  it  part  of  your  plan?" 

42 


She  hesitated,  then  nodded. 

"And  your  calling  yourself  Mrs.  Gardner  —  is 
that,  too,  a  part  of  your  plan?" 

"Yes  —  to  the  extent  that  I  am  temporarily  us 
ing  it  to  hide  behind.  Now  you  must  go  —  please!" 

"Good-bye  —  I  won't  bother  you  any  further." 

Sick,  bewildered,  and  with  as  great  a  fear  as  when 
he  entered,  Clifford  started  out.  But  at  that  moment 
there  was  a  ring  at  the  doorbell. 

"Why  didn't  you  go  before!"  cried  Mary;  and 
then,  seizing  his  arm,  "Wait,  you  must  n't  go  now!" 

"Why?" 

"It  would  be  misunderstood." 

"Then  you  know  who  that  is?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  it  Peter  Loveman?" 

" No."  Her  dark  eyes  gazed  at  him  very  straight; 
she  spoke  rapidly.  "You  are  an  old  acquaintance 
—  you  met  me  in  Paris  before  the  war  broke  out  — 
that's  all  you  really  know  about  me.  Except  that 
my  name  is  Mary  Regan." 

"I'll  play  the  part,"  said  Clifford. 

"Sit  there  by  the  window." 

Clifford  obeyed,  more  dazed  than  ever,  and  won- 
deringly  watched  Mary.  She  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  tensely  composed.  The  maid  had  answered 
the  bell,  and  Clifford  now  heard  a  man's  voice  in  the 
hall  —  a  familiar  voice.  The  next  moment  the  vis 
itor  was  through  the  doorway,  and  Clifford  beheld 
that  likable  young  man-about- town,  Jack  Morton. 

43 


MARY  REGAN 

But  Jack  Morton  saw  only  Mary,  and  his  face 
flushed  with  delight.  "Mary!"  he  cried  and  crossed 
to  her  with  open  arms.  Without  hesitation  she 
stepped  forward  and  her  lips  met  his. 

Clifford  experienced  such  a  swift  onrush  of  dizzi 
ness  and  sickness  that  he  barely  kept  his  seat. 

After  a  moment  Mary  drew  away  from  Morton. 
"Jack,  I  want  to  introduce  an  old  acquaintance  to 
you  —  Mr.  Clifford." 

"Bob  Clifford  —  you  here!"  cried  Morton.  "You 
know  Miss  Regan?" 

Clifford  remembered  his  lines.  "  I  met  Miss  Regan 
in  Paris  before  the  outbreak  of  the  war." 

Mary  held  her  pale  face  steadily  upon  Clifford.  "  I 
suppose,  Jack,  Mr.  Clifford  might  as  well  know  the 
truth." 

"After  what  he's  seen  I  guess  he  knows  it." 
Young  Morton,  a  glowing  smile  on  his  pleasant  face, 
held  out  his  hand.  "Congratulate  me,  Bob!" 

Clifford  took  the  hand.  "You — you  are  married?  " 

"We  are  going  to  be  —  as  soon  as  it's  safe." 

"Safe?" 

"You  see  my  — " 

"Mr.  Clifford  does  not  need  to  know  that,"  Mary 
quickly  interrupted. 

"Why—"  Clifford  stared;  gulped.  "I  did  not 
even  know  you  were  acquainted." 

"We  were  not,  till  three  months  ago."  Morton 
grinned  happily.  He  slipped  his  arm  about  Mary 
and  Mary  allowed  it  to  remain.  "Remember  my 

44 


MARY  REGAN 

telling  you  the  other  night  about  my  being  away,  far 
from  the  madding  crowd?  —  in  a  place  where  they 
don't  raise  a  thing  but  isolation?  Well,  that's  where 
I  met  Mary  —  at  Pine  Mountain  Lodge.  Was  n't 
that  some  coincidence,  Bob?" 

Clifford  agreed  that  it  was.  He  looked  searchingly 
at  Mary ;  but  her  pale,  proud  face  met  his  eyes  with 
a  steadfast  gaze  that  was  blank  of  any  offer  to 
apologize  or  explain. 

"Here's  wishing  you  luck,  Morton,"  Clifford 
said  with  a  control  that  surprised  himself.  He  gave 
Mary  Regan  a  look  that  was  quite  as  composed  as 
her  own.  "And  you,  Miss  Regan,  I  hope  that  all 
your  best  dreams  come  true." 

He  maintained  his  control  until  he  had  managed 
a  very  decent  exit.  But  out  in  the  corridor,  he  leaned 
against  the  wall,  a  very  sick  man,  with  ejaculations 
and  questions  stabbing  him  through  and  through. 
This,  then,  was  what  his  long  waiting  had  come  to, 
his  hopes  and  his  dreams  of  a  different  Mary  Regan ! 
This  affair  with  Jack  Morton,  a  good  enough  fellow 
of  his  sort,  that  was  her  plan !  .  .  .  Yes,  but  what  lay 
behind  that  plan?  .  .  .  And  did  she  care  for  Morton? 
.  .  .  And  why  had  she  not  frankly  written  him  of  her 
purpose?  .  .  .  And  Peter  Loveman,  where  did  Love- 
man  come  in?  .  .  .  And  Bradley,  guide  and  protector 
of  young  Morton,  what  might  be  Bradley 's  part?  .  .  . 
And  what  kind  of  person,  after  these  months,  was 
really  behind  that  exterior  which  Mary  Regan  had 
presented  him?  .  .  . 

45 


MARY  REGAN 

In  bitter  revulsion  Clifford  straightened  up  and 
walked  away.  What  she  was,  and  what  she  was 
doing,  and  what  she  had  got  herself  in  for,  these  mat 
ters  were  now  none  of  his  affairs.  For  him  Mary 
Regan  was  a  closed  incident. 


CHAPTER  V 

CLIFFORD  HAS  A  NEW   PURPOSE 

HALF  an  hour  later  Clifford  entered  the  octagonal 
reception  room  at  Police  Headquarters  and  sent  his 
name  in  to  Commissioner  Thorne.  Word  came 
back  that  Thorne  was  engaged  and  would  be  so  for 
half  an  hour;  but  in  the  meantime  would  n't  Clif 
ford  visit  about  the  building. 

Clifford  descended  to  the  great  corridor  on  the 
main  floor.  Here  he  met  captains  and  lieutenants 
and  first-grade  detectives  —  old  friends,  with  whom, 
until  the  events  that  had  sent  him  out  of  the  De 
partment,  he  had  worked  for  close  upon  a  decade. 
They  treated  him  with  a  respect  that,  coming  after 
his  scene  with  Mary  Regan,  was  soothing  to  his 
rasped  spirit.  The  very  surroundings,  too,  affected 
him  —  begot  in  him  a  formless  longing;  in  a  way 
it  was  like  coming  back  to  one's  home  town. 

Here,  too,  he  ran  into  little  Jimmie  Kelly.  With 
Jimmie  he  descended  to  the  pistol  range  in  the  sub- 
cellar,  and  for  half  an  hour  they  practiced  with  the 
regulation  police  revolvers,  which  recoil  like  an 
cient  shotguns  —  their  targets  those  little  posters 
seen  everywhere,  headed  "Wanted  for  Murder," 
over  the  heart  of  the  pictured  fugitive  an  inch  cir 
cle  of  white  paper  to  serve  as  bull's-eye.  And  then 

47 


MARY  REGAN 

they  practiced  with  Jimmie's  pistol,  a  .25  automatic 
so  tiny  that  it  could  lie  in  a  closed  hand  and  not  be 
seen. 

"Wish  you  were  back  here  with  us,  Bob,"  re 
marked  Jimmie  when  Clifford  announced  that  he 
was  due  up  in  the  Chief's  office.  "It  would  be  great 
stuff  —  working  with  you  again!" 

There  was  hearty  sincerity  in  Jimmie's  voice;  and 
the  vague  longing  begot  by  it  was  still  upon  Clifford 
when  at  length  he  was  seated  beside  Commissioner 
Thome's  desk. 

"Clifford,"  said  the  Commissioner  briskly,  his 
lean,  Scotch-Irish  face  alive  with  purpose,  "I'm 
going  to  lay  all  my  cards,  face  up,  on  the  table.  I 
asked  you  to  meet  me  down  here,  instead  of  up 
town,  for  the  sake  of  the  effect  on  you.  That's 
why  I  made  you  wait,  and  asked  you  to  visit  about. 
I  wanted  you  to  feel  the  old  tug  of  Headquarters." 

"I  guess  I've  felt  it  all  right,  Chief." 

"That's  good.  Clifford,  six  months  ago  I  asked 
you  to  become  Second  Deputy  Commissioner.  For 
your  own  reasons  you  refused.  I  hope  you've 
changed  your  mind,  for  I'm  now  again  asking  you 
to  take  the  place." 

To  be  Second  Deputy  Chief  of  New  York's  De 
tective  Bureau !  —  Clifford  felt  a  leaping  thrill  —  a 
swift  reaction  from  the  heaviness  and  bitterness 
which  had  been  upon  him  since  his  scene  with  Mary 
Regan.  He  considered  for  a  moment.  The  controlling 
reason  for  his  previous  declination,  his  knowledge 

48 


MARY  REGAN 

that  Mary  Regan  would  refuse  him  if  he  continued 
official  police  work  because  she  believed  she  would 
interfere  with  his  career  —  this  reason  Mary  Regan 
herself  had  just  wiped  out.  He  had  lost  enough  be 
cause  of  her.  Here  was  big  work  to  do.  Here  was  a 
big  career. 

Clifford  looked  up.  "I  accept,  Chief,"  he  said 
with  an  energy  almost  fierce.  "And  I'm  glad  and 
proud  to  accept.  And  I'll  give  the  job  the  best 
that's  in  me." 

"Bully  for  you!"  cried  Thome,  seizing  his  hand. 

There  was  a  minute's  further  exchange  of  thanks 
and  congratulations.  Then  Thorne  continued: 

"There's  a  particular  situation  I  want  you  to  take 
care  of.  I  believe  in  the  need  of  pleasure  as  much  as 
any  man.  But  the  providing  of  pleasure  in  this  city 
has  become  a  vast  business.  I  'm  not  referring  to  the 
theaters;  I'm  thinking  of  the  restaurants,  roof- 
gardens,  dancing  places,  things  like  that — high  and 
low.  And  I'm  thinking  especially  of  the  swellest 
places,  and  of  some  of  the  presumably  most  re 
spectable  places.  These  establishments  have  bred 
a  new  variety  of  specialists,  astute  men,  astute 
women,  who  entangle  and  victimize  the  pleasure- 
seekers.  Especially  since  women  began  to  go  about 
so  freely  to  the  dancing  places,  and  it  became  so 
easy  to  make  acquaintances,  there  have  developed 
such  opportunities  —  God,  if  the  public  only  guessed 
a  tenth  of  what  is  dribbling  in  to  us!  — and  even 
we  never  get  rumors  of  a  tenth  of  what  actually 

49 


MARY  REGAN 

happens.  But  you  know  this  situation  better  than 
I  do." 

"I've  had  to  learn  something  about  it,"  said  Clif 
ford. 

".I  want  the  facts.  I  want  the  situation  cleaned 
out.  You  Ve  got  a  free  hand  —  use  as  many  men  as 
you  like  —  follow  your  own  plans." 

"I'll  be  on  the  job  at  once,"  said  Clifford. 

."Good  stuff!"  cried  Thorne  enthusiastically. 
"And  if  you  succeed  —  and  I  know  you  will  —  it 
will  be  a  big  thing  for  the  Department,  a  big  thing 
for  me,  and  we'll  try  to  make  it  a  big  thing  for 
you!" 

This  new  interest  so  promptly  and  exactly  fitted 
the  sudden  emptiness  in  Clifford's  life  that  almost 
without  thinking  he  was  impelled  to  ask,  "Has  any 
thing  happened,  Chief,  to  cause  you  to  make  me 
this  offer  just  now?" 

Thorne  regarded  Clifford  with  a  curious,  thought 
ful  air.  "I  wonder  if  I  should  tell  you,"  he  said 
slowly;  and  then:  "Well,  the  fact  is,  Clifford,  I  have 
been  holding  a  little  something  back  from  you." 

"Something  about  what,  Chief?" 

"About  you  —  and  a  woman." 

"Yes  — goon!" 

"Six  months  ago  a  young  woman  called  on  me 
at  my  hotel,  and  asked  me  if  I  had  offered  you  the 
position  of  Chief  of  the  Detective  Bureau.  I  said 
that  I  had,  and  that  you  had  declined.  She  then 
asked  me  if  I  still  wanted  you.  I  said  yes,  if  I  could 

50 


MARY  REGAN 

get  you.  That  was  all  that  passed  between  us.  She 
thanked  me  and  went  away." 

"She  was  Mary  Regan,"  said  Clifford. 

"She  was." 

"And  is  that  all  that  has  happened?" 

"To-day  I  had  a  note  from  her,  without  date  or  ad 
dress,  advising  me  to  offer  you  the  position  again,  and 
to  keep  on  offering  it  to  you  until  you  accepted." 

Something  was  happening  within  Clifford,  though 
he  did  not  know  what  it  was  —  something  that  set 
brain  whirling  and  heart  beating  at  a  swifter  tempo. 
"I  just  left  her,"  he  said  with  mechanical  calm. 
"She's  going  to  marry  a  man  named  Jack  Morton." 

"So  I  have  just  learned." 

"How?" 

"Some  of  my  men  have  been  covering  Bradley 
and  Loveman.  Loveman's  house  telephone  is  tapped, 
and  a  few  threads  have  been  picked  up.  Miss  Regan 
believes  she  is  doing  what  she  is  doing  because  she 
wants  to,  and  from  her  own  motives.  But  Bradley 
and  Loveman  are  behind  it." 

"In  what  way?"  cried  Clifford. 

"  Bradley,  as  you  know,  is  a  sort  of  private  watch 
man  over  young  Morton.  Loveman  has  handled  a 
lot  of  delicate  matters  for  the  father.  The  elder 
Morton  is  a  ruthless  egoist,  an  able  man  of  big 
affairs,  but  remarkable  for  neither  business  nor 
personal  morality.  The  son  you  are  acquainted 
with.  You  can  see  the  opportunities  here  for  such 
a  combination  as  Bradley  and  Loveman." 

51 


MARY  REGAN 

"Yes.    But  where  does  Mary  Regan  come  in?" 

"Bradley  and  Loveman  are  using  her  now,  and 
expect  to  use  her  in  the  future." 

"Does  she  know  she  is  being  used?" 

"I'm  certain  she  does  not  even  guess  it.'* 

"Then  how  did  they  ever  get  her  into  it  this 
far?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

"But  surely,"  cried  Clifford,  "You  must  have 
some  idea  of  what  their  plan  is?" 

"Only  that  I  surmise  that  it  is  one  individual  case 
of  the  general  situation  concerning  which  I  just  spoke 
to  you  —  about  how  very  clever  persons  have  made 
a  subtle  business  out  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
city's  Big  Pleasure  reacts  upon  human  ambitions 
and  human  frailties.  Any  information  more  definite 
than  this  it  will  be  part  of  your  job  to  get." 

Abruptly  Clifford  stood  up  and  strode  to  a  window 
and  stood  gazing  vacantly  at  a  huge  candy  factory 
across  Broome  Street  —  his  whole  being  now  wildly 
athrob,  his  brain  working  swiftly  though  incoher 
ently.  What  might  it  not  mean,  Mary  Regan's  show 
ing  this  concern  to  see  that  he  accepted  the  position 
he  had  once  refused  because  of  her?  .  .  .  And  how 
much  did  she  really  care  for  Morton?  .  .  .  And  might 
there  not  be  motives,  deeper  and  other  than  he  had 
guessed,  that  had  caused  her  to  treat  him  so  cava 
lierly?  .  .  .  And  the  menace  of  Loveman  and  of 
Bradley  — 

Abruptly  Clifford  turned  about  on  Thorne. 

52 


MARY  REGAN 

"Chief,  I'm  sorry  to  take  back  my  word  —  but  I 
cannot  accept  that  job  as  Chief  of  Detectives." 

"Why  not?"  cried  the  astounded  Thorne. 

"That  I  can't  explain  just  now.  But  though  I 
can't  take  the  job,  I  '11  do  all  I  can  in  a  personal  way 
to  help  handle  that  condition  you  were  speaking 
about.  You  '11  excuse  me,  Chief,  but  I  Ve  got  to  do 
a  lot  of  quick  thinking." 

Leaving  Thorne  fairly  gasping  at  this  swift  transi 
tion,  Clifford  strode  out  of  the  office  and  out  of 
Police  Headquarters.  Two  minutes  later  he  was  in 
a  telephone  booth  in  a  saloon  across  the  way  and  was 
asking  the  Grantham  Hotel,  in  which  he  had  left 
Mary  Regan  an  hour  before,  for  "Mrs.  Gardner." 
Soon  Mary's  cool,  even  voice  sounded  over  the 
wire. 

"This  is  Robert  Clifford,"  he  said.  "May  I  see 
you  again  —  for  just  a  few  minutes?" 

There  was  a  long  silence;  then  the  cool  voice 
queried:  "Alone?" 

"If  you  please." 

Another  silence.  He  was  beginning  to  fear  that 
she  had  hung  up,  when  the  cool  voice  spoke  again. 

"Very  well"  —  and  this  time  he  heard  the  re 
ceiver  click  upon  its  hook. 

He  hurried  for  the  Subway.  He  was  athrill  with 
a  grim  elation.  He  felt  that  all  that  had  thus  far 
passed  between  him  and  Mary  Regan  was  no  more 
than  a  prelude  —  a  long  prelude,  to  be  sure  —  and 
that  the  big  action  of  their  drama  lay  still  before 

S3 


MARY  REGAN 

them.  He  would  fight  on,  still,  for  Mary  Regan  - 
to  save  her  from  herself,  to  protect  her  from  others ! 
But  in  this,  his  high  moment,  he  had  no  prevision 
of  the  vagaries  of  a  woman's  nature  he  was  to  encoun 
ter  —  of  a  willful,  many-elemented  woman  who  had 
not  yet  found  herself,  and  who  had  a  long  road  yet 
to  travel  before  she  reached  that  self-knowledge; 
and  he  had  no  prevision  of  the  strange  places  behind 
the  scenes  of  pleasure  that  his  new  purpose  was  to 
cause  him  to  penetrate,  and  no  prevision  of  the 
strange  motives,  the  strange  mixtures  of  human  na 
ture,  that  he  was  to  meet. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MARY   SHOWS  HER  HAND 

MARY  REGAN  stood  in  the  dusk  of  her  sitting-room, 
holding  apart  the  velvet  hangings  of  a  window,  and 
gazing  far  down  at  the  quadruple  line  of  motor 
cars  which  at  this  twilight  winter  hour  moves  in 
slow  lockstep  between  Thirty-third  and  Fifty-ninth 
Streets;  and  as  she  vacantly  gazed  upon  the  world's 
greatest  parade  of  pleasure  vehicles,  part  of  her 
mind  was  wondering  about  her  approaching  inter 
view  with  Clifford  —  and  part  of  her  mind,  in 
subconscious  preparation  for  this  meeting,  was 
automatically  reviewing,  and  checking-up,  and  re- 
swearing  allegiance  to  some  of  the  decisions  she 
had  reached  concerning  herself  and  the  course  she 
had  chosen.  She  was  somewhat  excited ;  but  she  felt 
sure  of  herself  —  very  sure ! 

During  the  six  months  she  had  been  away,  she  had 
studied,  or  believed  she  had,  her  own  nature  most 
carefully,  and  also  her  immediate  interests,  and  also 
the  bolder  Teachings  of  her  ambition.  She  had  con 
sidered  these  matters,  not  sentimentally,  —  she  hated 
sentiment,  she  told  herself,  —  but  with  cool  brain, 
and  with  no  fear  to  admit  the  truth.  To  be  sure  there 
had  been  a  swift  seizure  and  possession  of  her  by 
emotion  when  she  and  Clifford  had  kissed  that 

55 


MARY  REGAN 

summer  dawn  long  ago  in  Washington  Square;  and 
now  and  again  this  emotional  element  had  arisen  in 
her  with  appealing  energy,  but  her  cool  intelligence 
had  always  controlled  such  impulses.  What  did  life 
offer  with  a  police  official  who  was  on  the  square? 
Nothing!  At  least  nothing  that  she  cared  for  or 
dreamed  of.  Honest  police  officials  never  got  any 
where.  And  as  for  Clifford,  marriage  with  him  would 
ruin  such  career  for  him  as  might  be  possible.  It 
would  never  do  —  not  for  either  of  them. 

What  she  wanted  was  altogether  different.  She 
knew,  for  she  had  analyzed  herself  with  the  apart 
ness  of  a  scientist.  Her  former  attitude  toward 
crime,  acquired  through  a  girlhood  spent  with  those 
cynical  gentlemen  of  the  world,  her  father  and  her 
Uncle  Joe,  —  that  attitude  to  be  sure  was  now 
changed;  at  least  such  intentions  as  formerly  she 
had  had  she  now  knew  to  be  quiescent;  Clifford  had 
influenced  her  to  this  extent.  But  though  the  crim 
inal  impulses  given  her  by  her  training  were  gone, 
the  worldly  attitude  and  instincts  begotten  by  that 
training  still  remained.  She  believed  herself  a  world 
ling;  and  more,  she  believed  herself  a  competent 
worldling.  She  believed  she  had  no  illusions  about 
herself.  The  things  in  life  that  were  wTorth  while  — 
so  in  her  confident  youthfulness  she  decided  —  were 
luxury,  admiration,  the  pleasures  that  money  could 
buy.  And  these  things  she  believed  she  could  win. 

This  much,  in  her  retreat,  she  had  already  decided 
before  Jack  Morton  had  appeared  in  the  quiet  coun- 

56 


MARY  REGAN 

tryside.  The  coming  of  Jack,  with  the  opportunities 
represented  by  his  amiable  person,  had  made  her 
even  more  decided. 

And  so,  as  she  now  gazed  down  through  the  win 
ter  dusk  upon  the  shifting  motor-tops,  she  was  very 
certain  of  herself  despite  her  palpitant  expectation 
over  Clifford's  coming  —  very  confident  of  herself, 
and  what  she  was,  and  what  she  was  going  to  do,  and 
what  she  was  going  to  be:  just  as  many  another 
young  woman,  of  a  perhaps  more  careful  rearing, 
was  preeningly  confident  of  herself,  in  those  limou 
sines  far  below  her.  For  this  was  the  time  of  all 
times,  and  the  place  of  all  places,  that  young  wo 
men  were  trained  to  dream  of  themselves ;  and  here, 
also,  often  the  dreams  came  gorgeously  true  —  for  a 
time!  .  .  . 

The  ring  of  her  apartment  bell  brought  Mary 
sharply  from  her  thoughts.  Switching  on  the  lights, 
she  opened  the  door  and  admitted  Clifford  into  her 
sitting-room.  She  spoke  first,  with  a  formality  that 
held  him  at  a  distance. 

"I  consented  to  see  you  because  an  hour  or  two 
ago  you  discovered  a  private  matter  of  mine,  and  I 
neglected  to  ask  you  to  keep  it  silent." 

"You  refer  to  your  engagement  to  Jack  Morton?  " 
"I  do.  Of  course  you  will  say  nothing  about  it." 
"That  you  must  leave  to  my  discretion." 
"You  mean  you  are  going  to  tell?"  she  demanded. 
He  tried  to  keep  his  business  here  to  the  front  of 
his  mind,  but  now,  as  he  sat  face  to  face  with  her, 

57 


MARY  REGAN 

the  old  question  recurred  for  which  he  seemed  able 
to  reach  no  final  answer:  what  was  she  really  like 
beneath  this  exterior  she  showed  him? — what  might 
she  be  beneath  and  within  the  self  she  supposed  her 
self  to  be? 

"I  mean  that  I  am  reserving  the  right  to  do 
exactly  what  I  please,"  he  replied,  looking  at  her 
squarely.  "This  business  of  your  secret  engagement 
is  also  what  made  me  want  to  see  you  —  but  it  is 
only  one  of  many  things.  I  have  done  a  lot  of  think 
ing  since  I  left  you  two  hours  ago.  Also  I  have  just 
seen  Police  Commissioner  Thorne." 

"Yes?" 

"Mr.  Thorne  honored  me  by  offering  me  the  posi 
tion  of  Chief  of  the  Detective  Bureau.  I  accepted 
the  position — " 

"Then  I  suppose  I  should  address  you  as  —  By 
the  way,  just  how  should  one  address  you?" 

"But  I  immediately  withdrew  my  acceptance," 
he  continued,  ignoring  the  cool  irony  which  seemed 
to  come  automatically  into  her  voice  whenever  they 
met.  "I  refused  because  of  certain  things  I  learned 
from  Thorne  about  you." 

"About  me?   What  are  they?" 

"That's  what  I  want  to  learn  more  about  —  and 
from  you." 

"Ah  —  then  you  still  are  a  detective?" 

"I  suppose  I  am,"  still  ignoring  the  irony  of  her 
tone.  "  But  just  now  I  primarily  am  a  person  who 
is  interested  in  his  own  affairs  as  a  man." 

58 


MARY  REGAN 

"Your  affairs?"  she  questioned. 

"Just  now  your  affairs  have  become  my  affairs. 
And  I'm  hoping  that  you'll  help  me  by  frankly 
answering  my  questions." 

"Questions  about  what?" 

"About  yourself." 

"Such  as?" 

"Instead  of  leaving  it  for  me  to  discover  by  acci 
dent,  why  did  you  not  frankly  tell  me  of  your  in 
tention  to  marry  some  one  else?  —  when  you  knew 
what  for  six  months  I  had  been  hoping  for.  How 
much  do  you  care  for  Jack  Morton?" 

His  determined  face,  and  the  flashing  memories 
of  what  he  had  tried  to  do  for  her,  checked  the 
sharp  replies  that  instinctively  started  for  her  lips. 
The  steady  gaze  of  his  intense  eyes  sent  a  warm 
tremor  through  her,  gave  her  a  swift,  tingling  pleas 
ure.  But  that  very  pleasure  was  a  warning  to  her: 
such  feeling  in  her  was  only  aberration  —  the  life 
signs  of  some  of  her  less  important  elements,  which 
she  had  adjudged  to  be  a  menace  to  her  success  and 
which  she  must  therefore  suppress.  The  next  mo 
ment  she  had  full  control  of  herself  —  and  she  had 
decided  on  what  should  be  her  course  with  him. 

"You  seem  to  regard  me  as  a  mystery,"  she  re 
marked  with  tantalizing  coolness. 

"You  are  one  —  in  a  degree.  And  I  want  it 
solved." 

"There  is  nothing  in  the  least  mysterious  about 
me,"  she  said  in  her  even  tone.  "  I  '11  tell  you  all  you 

59 


MARY  REGAN 

need  to  know.  You  may  be  seated  if  you  like."  And 
after  they  were  both  in  chairs:  "First  about  Mr. 
Morton.  He  is  a  pleasant,  agreeable  gentleman.  He 
has  money  and  position." 

"You  love  him?" 

"I  like  him." 

"You  are  marrying  him,  then,  because  it  is  a  good 
business  proposition  —  to  put  it  brutally." 

She  met  his  flushed  face  calmly.  "That  is  not 
putting  it  brutally.  Rather,  it  is  merely  putting  it 
honestly."  This  she  had  decided  must  be  made  the 
final  interview  between  them.  "I  told  you,  when 
you  were  here  two  hours  ago,  that  I  had  discovered 
that  I  am  not  at  all  the  woman  you  believed  lay 
undeveloped  in  me.  You  may  call  me  worldly  — 
selfish  —  ambitious.  And  you  will  be  tremendously 
right." 

He  looked  at  her  hard,  and  was  silent  a  moment. 
"But  that  is  n't  answering  my  first  question  and  all 
it  implied :  why  did  n't  you  write  me  before  you  re 
turned  to  New  York?  Why  did  n't  you  frankly  tell 
me  of  your  intended  marriage?" 

She  lifted  her  shoulders  ever  so  slightly.  "It 
must  have  been  because  I  never  thought  of  it." 

He  flushed,  but  she  met  his  look  with  unabashed 
composure.  She  had  lied,  but  she  had  lied  easily, 
for  the  lie  had  been  carefully  premeditated.  When, 
during  her  absence,  her  mind's  decision  had  gone 
against  Clifford,  she  had  considered  what  would  be 
.the  most  effective  method  of  giving  undebatable 

60 


MARY  REGAN 

conclusion  to  the  affair;  and  had  decided  upon  this 
course  that  she  had  followed.  No  need  for  letters — no 
chance  for  sentimental  pleading  to  alter  her  mind ; 
it  would  be  all  over,  and  ended,  before  he  knew  a 
thing.  Further,  since  the  break  had  to  come,  it  ap 
pealed  to  her  pride  to  seem  superior  and  indifferent. 

Clifford  was  angry,  but  he  contained  himself. 
"To  go  on:  was  your  meeting  with  Mr.  Morton  in 
that  out-of-the-way  spot,  Pine  Mountain  Lodge, 
pure  coincidence  as  he  said?  —  or  did  cunning  brains 
bring  it  about?" 

"You  mean,  my  cunning  brains?"  Two  spots  of 
conscious  color  appeared  in  her  cheeks. 

"I  do  not  mean  you.  Did  some  one  else,  perhaps 
without  your  knowledge  at  the  time,  plan  that  you 
should  meet?" 

"What  are  you  driving  at?"  she  demanded 
sharply. 

"  I  don't  know  myself  yet  —  exactly." 

"Who  could  have  planned  our  meeting?  As  you 
know,  I  went  to  Pine  Mountain  Lodge  to  be  alone. 
Mr.  Morton,  not  knowing  of  my  presence  there  or 
even  of  my  existence,  came  to  Pine  Mountain  to 
rest  up.  We  could  n't  help  meeting,  since  the  lodge 
is  the  only  place  at  which  one  can  stay.  That's 
all  there  is  to  this  amazing  mystery." 

"Undoubtedly  all  you  see.  But  the  coincidence 
explanation  does  n't  explain  everything.  Some  one 
may  have  been  behind  Jack  Morton's  going." 

"Who?  In  what  way?  And  for  what  reason?" 

61 


MARY  REGAN 

"Those  are  things  to  be  found  out."  He  looked 
at  her  steadily  for  a  moment.  "I  asked  you  this 
before,  but  I  am  going  to  ask  it  again:  why  are  you 
here  in  hiding?" 

"After  all,  I  guess  I  don't  mind  telling  you  in  the 
least,"  she  returned  coolly,  with  a  sudden  perverse 
gratification  in  revealing  what  she  knew  he  could 
not  like  in  her.  Also  she  felt  that  here  was  another 
detail  by  which  she  could  make  Clifford  feel  the 
utter  finality  of  the  break  between  them.  "Jack  and 
I  came  to  New  York  intending  to  be  married  the 
next  day.  But  the  very  evening  of  the  day  we  ar 
rived,  Jack's  father  unexpectedly  came  to  town  and 
appeared  at  the  Biltmore  where  Jack  is  staying." 

"Was  that  before  or  after  the  evening  I  saw  you 
at  the  Grand  Alcazar  with  Mr.  Loveman?" 

"You  saw  me  there  the  evening  of  the  day  of  my 
return.  Jack  was  to  have  had  dinner  with  me  that 
night,"  she  added,  "and  had  reserved  the  table 
and  had  asked  his  friend,  Mr.  Loveman,  and  then 
he  got  tangled  up  with  a  friend  and  could  not  come. 
It  was  that  same  evening  that  his  father  arrived  in 
town.  I  believe  this  is  simple  and  clear." 

"As  far  as  it  goes.  But  why  did  you  go  into  hid 
ing?" 

"Isn't  that  rather  obvious?"  she  returned  with 
her  cool  frankness.  "Jack  and  I  were  going  to  keep 
our  marriage  secret  —  perhaps  for  a  long  time.  The 
appearance  of  his  father,  with  the  announcement 
that  he  was  going  to  stay  with  Jack,  naturally  de- 

62 


MARY  REGAN 

layed  our  marriage.  I  insisted  that  it  be  postponed 
until  his  father  was  away  and  there  was  no  danger 
of  immediate  discovery." 

"And  Jack?" 

"Jack  was  reckless.  He  was  all  for  getting  married 
right  away.  But  I  refused  to  take  the  risk.  Also, 
under  the  circumstances,  it  did  n't  seem  particu 
larly  wise  to  give  the  father  a  chance  to  find  out 
about  me  by  our  appearing  openly  together." 

"But  you  yourself  could  have  gone  out  openly 
alone,  or  with  friends." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  she  said  dryly —  "and  have  run 
the  risk  of  Jack  and  his  father  seeing  me  in  public, 
and  learning  all  about  me.  No,  thank  you — the 
only  way  for  me  has  been  to  keep  under  cover  for 
the  present." 

Clifford  had  felt  a  great  start,  but  he  had  sup 
pressed  it;  and  he  managed  to  say  quite  casually: 
"Of  course  Jack  Morton  doesn't  know  who  you 
really  are?" 

"Of  course  not.  Oh,  I  don't  mind  so  much  what 
he  might  learn  about  me,"  she  added,  a  bit  de 
fiantly.  "You  police  have  nothing  on  me  —  not  in 
the  way  of  a  conviction,  anyhow.  But  it  would  not 
help  particularly  if  he  learned  who  my  father  had 
been,  and  that  Joe  Russell  is  my  uncle,  and  that  my 
brother  is  Slant-Face  Regan." 

"But  he'll  be  sure  to  learn  some  day." 

"By  that  time  he'll  have  become  so  attached  to 
me  that  it'll  not  make  much  difference." 

63 


MARY  REGAN 

"But  there's  his  father.  What  about  what '11 
happen  when  he  finds  out?  All  Jack's  money  comes 
through  his  father." 

"Oh,  his  father  will  come  around  in  the  end.  You 
see  he's  not  to  know  till  we  get  ready." 

Clifford  looked  at  her  for  a  long  moment  of  silence. 

"I  know  what  you're  thinking;  you're  thinking 
I'm  just  another  adventuress,"  she  said  with  a 
shrug.  "But  what  of  that?  Every  woman  is  an  ad 
venturess  who  is  trying  to  better  her  position  and 
who  is  using  her  head  to  do  it.  And  that's  just  what 
every  woman  is  doing!" 

"I  was  not  thinking  chiefly  of  that;  I  was  think 
ing  of  Peter  Loveman.  Did  he  suggest  that  you  go 
into  hiding?" 

"When  Jack  told  him  of  our  engagement,  he  said 
he  did  n't  want  to  know  anything  about  it,  he  wanted 
to  keep  out  of  any  such  affair.  But  when  he  learned 
Jack's  father  was  in  town,  he  telephoned  me  to  keep 
out  of  the  way." 

"You've  known  Loveman  some  time?" 

"Since  I  came  back  to  America.  He's  been  Uncle 
Joe's  lawyer;  and  naturally  they're  friends." 

"And  he  could  have  known  you  were  in  Pine 
Mountain  Lodge?" 

"Of  course  Uncle  Joe  might  have  told  him." 

Clifford  considered  a  moment.  "Tell  me,  just 
what  has  Mr.  Loveman  had  to  do  with  this  affair?" 

"I  have  already  told  you  everything  I  know." 

Clifford  was  convinced  that  in  this  she  was  telling 

64 


MARY  REGAN 

him  the  truth.  But  all  his  senses  informed  him  that 
somewhere,  working  in  some  manner,  behind  this 
affair  was  Peter  Loveman,  playing  with  his  master's 
subtlety  upon  human  frailties,  passions,  and  am 
bitions.  Undoubtedly  Mary  Regan  was  being  used. 
Undoubtedly  also  Commissioner  Thorne  had  been 
right  when  he  had  declared  that  Mary  Regan  had 
no  suspicion  that  she  was  being  used,  that  she  be 
lieved  that  whatever  she  was  doing  she  was  doing 
of  her  own  free  will. 

He  had  put  to  her  all  the  questions  he  had  in 
tended  ;  and  as  for  a  moment  he  sat  gazing  at  her  — 
so  composed,  so  worldly-looking,  and  so  very  young 
to  be  saying  such  things  as  she  had  just  said  —  the 
more  personal  questions,  which  had  shaken  him  so 
often,  throbbed  through  him  like  so  many  gigantic 
and  fiery  pulse-beats :  Was  she  through  and  through 
and  unchangeably  this  worldly,  calculating  Mary 
Regan  that  she  had  so  carefully  depicted  for  him  — 
or  was  it  all  just  a  pose?  Or  might  she  believe  her 
self  sincere  in  this  sophistication  —  and  yet  deep 
down  in  her  might  there  be  the  living  essence  of  a 
very  different  Mary  Regan  that  she  tried  to  deny 
and  ignore?  He  could  not  forget  that  moment  in 
Washington  Square  when  her  soul  had  seemed  un 
locked  ;  he  could  not  forget  her  kiss  .  .  . 

Clifford  stood  up  as  though  his  intention  was  to 
leave.  She  also  rose.  His  trifling  strategy  achieved 
its  end  —  physical  proximity  and  the  chance  which 
sitting  at  formal  distance  in  chairs  did  not  permit. 

65 


MARY  REGAN 

Suddenly  he  gripped  her  two  shoulders;  and  the 
energy  and  purpose  and  feeling  which  he  had  kept  in 
restraint  during  the  past  minutes  now  burst  forth. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Mary  Regan,"  he  declared  tensely. 
"You  are  not  going  to  marry  Jack  Morton!  You 
hear  me!" 

She  was  so  startled  at  the  change  in  him  that  she 
was  hardly  aware  of  the  hands  clutching  her  shoul 
ders.  "Why  not?" 

His  words  rushed  out.  "  I  'm  not  going  to  say  any 
thing  about  it's  not  being  square.  He's  not  good 
enough  for  you!  Oh,  I  don't  mean  to  run  down  a 
man  I  Ve  called  my  friend.  Jack  Morton  is  pleasant 
enough  in  his  way.  And  you  Ve  seen  him  at  his  best 
—  away  from  the  lights  and  Big  Pleasure,  when  he 
was  on  his  good  behavior  —  and  there  are  few  men 
who  can  be  more  agreeable  than  Jack  Morton.  But 
Broadway  is  likely  to  get  hold  of  him  again!  And 
girls !  —  no  girl  is  pretty  to  him  for  more  than  six 
months,  and  every  pretty  girl  is  prettier  than  the 
last  pretty  girl !  It's  just  the  way  Jack  is  made  —  or 
the  way  this  town  has  made  him.  I  tell  you  it 's  an 
awful  mistake!" 

"It's  my  own  mistake  I'm  making!"  Her  dark 
eyes  flashed  at  him.  "Take  off  your  hands!" 

Instead  he  clutched  her  all  the  tighter.  "There's 
a  bigger  reason  than  the  mistake.  Mary,  you  love 
me!" 

" Love  you!"  she  ejaculated. 

44 Yes,  you  love  me,  and  you  know  you  love  me!" 

66 


MARY  REGAN 

he  declared  masterfully.  The  impulse  was  upon 
him  to  sweep  her  from  her  announced  determination 
by  dominating  her  with  a  swift  power  comprised  of 
his  own  longing  for  her  and  her  reawakened  liking 
for  him.  "You  know  you  love  me,  or  why  did  you 
see  Commissioner  Thorne  about  me  six  months  ago, 
and  why  did  you  to-day  suggest  to  him  that  he 
again  offer  me  the  place  of  Chief  of  the  Detective 
Bureau?  You  love  me,  and  you  thought  your  mar 
riage  to  me  might  injure  my  public  career.  You 
don't  care  how  much  marriage  to  Jack  Morton  may 
injure  him.  Don't  you  think  I  see  through  you? 
Don't  you  think  I  understand?  You're  not  going  to 
marry  Jack  Morton!  You're  going  to  marry  me!" 

She  had  paled  —  and  her  dark  eyes,  of  a  brown 
that  was  almost  a  black,  were  fixed  upon  him  widely, 
in  what  might  have  been  fear,  or  bewilderment,  or 
fascination,  or  all  of  these  —  and  he  felt  a  trembling 
go  through  her  body.  For  a  long  moment  they  stood 
tensely  thus:  he  hoping  that  he  had  carried  the  day 
—  and  at  the  same  time  poignantly  wondering  what 
she  was  about  to  say  or  do.  .„, 

"You  are  going  to  marry  me!  You  are  going  to 
marry  me!"  he  repeated  after  the  manner  of  those 
who  seek  to  work  miracles  by  the  power  of  a  force 
fully  iterated  idea. 

He  felt  her  body  grow  taut ;  and  the  startled  look 
of  her  face  gave  place  to  composed  decision.  That 
moment  he  knew  that  he  had  lost  —  for  this  day  at 
least. 

67 


MARY  REGAN 

"Please  remove  your  hands!"  she  commanded 
in  a  quiet,  edged  voice. 

He  did  not  at  once  obey;  his  faculties  were  still 
so  engaged  with  his  struggle  to  turn  her  aside,  and 
with  his  failure,  that  he  scarcely  heard  her. 

"Please  remove  your  hands!"  she  repeated,  her 
voice  not  going  up  by  so  much  as  a  semi-tone. 

His  hands  fell  to  his  sides. 

"Despite  what  you  say,  Mr.  Clifford,"  she  con 
tinued  in  the  same  even  voice  of  calm  decision,  "I 
am  not  going  to  marry  you,  and  I  am  going  to  marry 
Mr.  Morton." 

He  was  composed  again.  "Perhaps  you  may  never 
marry  me,"  he  returned  grimly.  "But  you  cer 
tainly  will  never  marry  Jack  Morton." 

"And  why  not?" 

"Because  I  shall  prevent  it." 

"How?" 

"  By  any  and  whatever  means  seem  most  effective." 

Her  gaze  sharpened.  Then  the  red  of  anger 
faintly  tinted  the  tawny  satin  of  her  cheek. 

"You  mean  to  say  you  would  be  low  enough  to 
tell  Jack  or  his  father  about  me  and  my  family?" 

He  looked  her  straight  in  the  face.  "You  have 
admitted  that  that  procedure  might  be  effective." 

"You  would  n't  dare  do  that!"  And  she  seized 
his  arm  with  a  grasp  no  less  intense  than  his  of  a 
minute  before,  and  glared  at  him. 

"I'll  do  exactly  what  may  be  necessary,  Miss 
Regan." 

68 


MARY  REGAN 

"  You  —  you  —  "  she  gasped.  "You  have  no  right 
to  interfere  in  my  affairs!" 

"There  is  far  more  to  this  affair  than  just  You, 
Miss  Regan."  With  an  almost  impersonal  movement 
he  removed  her  hand  from  his  arm  and  let  it  fall. 
"I  must  be  going.  But  do  not  forget  for  a  moment 
that  I  am  going  to  prevent  your  marriage,  and  pre 
vent  it  in  whatever  way  will  be  most  effective." 

He  bowed  slightly.  Standing  just  where  he  had 
left  her,  she  watched  him  go  out,  within  her  a  dazed 
commotion  of  surprise,  consternation,  suspense  — 
and,  strangely,  not  quite  so  high  an  anger  toward 
Clifford  as  she  had  felt  two  moments  before. 


CHAPTER  VII 

NINA  CORDOVA 

YES,  he  must  prevent  this  marriage,  he  must  block 
Loveman,  he  must  find  out  Loveman's  plan,  and  he 
must  do  all  quickly  —  but  how?  To  warn  the  Mor 
tons  would  achieve  some  of  these  ends;  but  he  had 
a  Strong  repugnance  to  this  procedure.  He  would 
only  play  this  as  his  last  card. 

Clifford  thought  of  Slant- Face;  but  he  realized 
that  Slant- Face  would  probably  have  no  influence 
with  his  sister,  and  possibly  the  ex-pickpocket  might 
even  regard  the  affair  from  Mary's  viewpoint.  Also 
he  thought  of  her  Uncle  Joe;  but  the  same  objection 
held  true  regarding  him,  and  also  the  width  of  the 
continent  made  him  unavailable.  As  for  Commis 
sioner  Thorne,  he  could  not  be  of  service  in  the  pres 
ent  stage  of  affairs.  And  then  Clifford  thought  of 
Uncle  George.  Uncle  George  might  possibly  give 
suggestions,  for  Uncle  George  knew  as  much  about 
the  pleasure  life  (and  what  lay  beneath  it)  of  Broad 
way  and  of  Broadway's  closest  territorial  relative, 
Fifth  Avenue  between  the  Waldorf  and  St.  Patrick's 
Cathedral,  as  any  other  hundred  men  in  New  York 
put  together. 

An  hour  after  leaving  Mary,  Clifford  sat  in  the 
Grand  Alcazar  restaurant,  looking  into  the  bland, 

70 


MARY  REGAN 

genial,  cunning,  loose-skinned  old  face.  He  had  just 
finished  telling  Uncle  George  of  his  discovery  of  the 
whereabouts  of  Mary  Regan  and  the  other  events 
of  the  day. 

The  old  man  regarded  Clifford  with  meditative, 
puckered  gaze  —  a  gaze  of  somewhat  peculiar  effect, 
begotten  by  his  lack  of  eyebrows  and  eyelashes. 
"Son,"  he  began  slowly,  "the  thing  that  stands  out 
in  this  chunk  of  vers  libre  you  've  been  handing  me, 
is  the  fact  that  you're  so  stuck  on  that  little  dame 
Mary  Regan—" 

"Let's  leave  me,  and  what  I  may  think  of  her, 
out  of  it,"  put  in  Clifford. 

"Don't  interrupt,  son.  You  ask  me  a  thing  and 
you've  got  to  let  me  spiel  along  in  my  own  way"  — 
which,  indeed,  was  one  of  the  difficulties  not  to  be 
avoided  in  consulting  Uncle  George.  "Now,  you 
listen  to  me,  son,  and  you'll  hear  something  out  of 
the  original  book  out  of  which  old  Solomon  and 
those  other  wise  guys  that  have  been  playing  big 
time  steady  for  three  or  four  thousand  years  swiped 
all  their  good  gags.  Son,  you're  too  damned  monog 
amous  !  You  're  insulting  God :  what  the  hell  d'  you 
suppose  he  made  so  many  pretty  girls  for?  —  and 
let  the  others  get  wise  on  how  to  make  themselves 
pretty?  Now,  I  like  Mary  Regan  as  well  as  any  male 
person  can  who's  not  her  relative  and  who's  not 
trying  to  be  —  but  if  she  tried  any  of  that  beautiful 
female  cussedness  on  me,  I  'd  throw  her  one  smiling 
kiss,  mail  her  a  picture  post-card  of  the  jumping-off 

71 


MARY  REGAN 

place,  and  proceed  to  admire  some  of  the  other  works 
of  God." 

Uncle  George  nodded,  and  started  to  sip  his  white 
wine  thinned  with  sparkling  water. 

"Thanks,  Uncle  George.  But  let's  get  back — " 
"Hold  on,  son.  That  was  just  my  first  sentence. 
Supposing  Mary  Regan  is  trying  to  put  something 
across  by  holding  back  a  little  of  the  truth  —  sort 
of  saving  it  up  for  a  rainy  day.  Well,  what  of  that? 
Ain't  we  all  liars?  You  take  it  from  your  Uncle 
George,  a  superannuated  old  burglar,  president  emer 
itus  of  that  grand  old  alma  mater,  the  University 
of  Broadway,  who 's  played  every  kind  of  game  with 
every  kind  of  male  and  female  now  decorating  this 
earth  —  take  it  from  me,  son,  I  Ve  never  seen  the 
strait  and  narrow  road  of  truth  congested  with  the 
traffic.  That's  one  road  you  can  speed  on,  and  not 
even  see  a  cop.  So,  son,  if  Mary  Regan  has  been  like 
the  rest  of  us,  don't  hold  it  especially  against  her. 
And  her  marrying  Jack  Morton  by  holding  back  a  bit 
of  the  evidence,  it 's  not  going  to  hurt  him  such  a  lot." 
"  I  'm  thinking  of  what  it  may  do  to  her." 
"Why,  now,  son,  a  marriage  now  and  then  seems 
to  improve  a  lot  of  women.  And  the  only  time  a  few 
marriages  seem  to  be  a  handicap  to  some  women  is 
when  they  undertake  to  sign  their  names  in  full." 

"You're  in  very  good  voice  this  evening,  Uncle 
George.  But,  if  you  don't  mind,  let's  talk  about 
how  to  stop  that  marriage,  and  how  to  find  out 
Loveman's  game." 

72 


MARY  REGAN 

"All  right  —  all  right.  Now,  let's  see.  You  know 
Nina  Cordova,  star  of  that  new  musical  show  that 's 
a  sure-fire  frost  —  what  is  it?" 

"'Orange  Blossoms.'    Yes,  I  know  of  her." 

"Then  you'll  remember  that  in  young  Morton's 
previous  Broadway  incarnation  he  had  an  affair 
with  her  —  which  little  Nina  broke  off  sharp  and 
sudden  when  she  got  the  chance  a  year  ago  at  the 
star's  part  in  'The  Bridal  Wreath'?  She's  a  live 
proposition:  why  not  inject  her  into  the  affair?" 

"I've  thought  of  that,"  said  Clifford. 

"H'm.  Well,  then,"  Uncle  George  meditated, 
"you  remember  how  Jack  Morton,  when  he  was 
along  here  before,  used  to  like  his  little  quart  or 
two  or  three  of  champagne? — and  how  he  behaved 
when  he  was  all  lit  up?  Why  not  kidnap  him  from 
Bradley,  give  him  a  chance  to  be  his  real  self  again, 
and  then  ship  him  to  Mary?  This  different  Jack 
Morton  might  make  her  stop  and  think.  Or  send 
him  along  to  his  old  man  —  and  when  his  old  man 
saw  how  the  kid  had  broken  training  he  might  do 
what  he's  threatened,  stop  Jack's  dough;  and  this 
might  be  enough  of  a  jolt  to  make  Mary  call  the 
thing  off." 

"I've  thought  of  those  things,  too." 

"You  seem  to  have  thought  of  everything,"  half 
grumbled  Uncle  George.  "Well,  what's  the  matter 
with  these  ways?" 

"For  one  thing,  it  would  take  time  to  put  them 
across.  I  'ye  got  to  act  quickly,  for  there's  no  telling 

73 


MARY  REGAN 

what  she  '11  do.  Besides,  before  I  take  any  action,  I  'd 
like  to  learn  how  she  got  into  this  matter;  I'd  like 
to  learn  just  what  Loveman's  and  Bradley 's  part  in 
the  game  has  been,  just  what  they  plan  to  make  of 
it  in  the  future." 

"I  get  you,"  nodded  Uncle  George.  "So  that 
you  can  plan  your  action  accordingly.  But  that's 
some  job,  son,  —  getting  in  on  the  inside  of  the  game 
of  such  a  pair  as  Bradley  and  Loveman." 

"  I  know  it.  It  can  only  be  done  indirectly."  Clif 
ford  regarded  Uncle  George  thoughtfully  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  suddenly  asked:  "Do  you  know  Jack 
Morton's  father?" 

"I've  met  him." 

"Know  him  well  enough  to  get  into  a  friendly 
talk  with  him?" 

"Son,"  demanded  Uncle  George  in  an  aggrieved 
tone,  "you  mean  to  insult  me  by  asking  if  I  need 
even  to  have  seen  a  man  before  to  be  his  best  friend 
inside  of  thirty  minutes  —  me  that  could  go  out 
now  and  sell  old  Andy  Carnegie's  pig-iron  billets 
back  to  him  as  gold-bricks!"  Uncle  George  looked 
at  his  watch.  "Father  Morton  is  staying  at  the 
Biltmore.  It's  now  six-twenty.  I've  noticed  that 
he  leads  himself  into  the  smoking-room  at  six-thirty 
for  a  cocktail.  I  feel  a  craving  for  a  Biltmore  cock 
tail.  Son,  just  where  is  that  building  lot  in  North 
River  located  that  you  want  me  to  sell  him?" 

"Could  you  steer  the  talk  around  to  his  son  — 
make  him  doubt  Bradley  a  bit  —  say  something 

74 


MARY  REGAN 

good  about  me  —  and  implant  in  him  the  idea  that 
he  ought  to  consult  me?" 

"Could  I?  Why  don't  you  write  me  an  act 
that'd  bring  out  my  talents?  It's  already  done  — 
what  you  going  to  do  next?" 

''That  depends  on  whether  Mr.  Morton  comes  to 
see  me,  and  whether  I  get  anything  out  of  him." 

Uncle  George  heaved  himself  to  his  feet.  "Come 
on,  son,  see  me  safe  aboard  a  taxi."  Outside,  in  the 
cab,  he  reached  forth  and  laid  a  hand  on  Clifford's 
shoulder.  "Remember,  son,  there's  just  as  good 
mermaids  in  the  sea  as  have  ever  been  caught." 

"Bon  voyage,"  said  Clifford  as  the  car  started. 

The  old  man,  winking  a  genial,  satyr-like  wink, 
blew  Clifford  a  kiss  through  the  open  window. 

At  half-past  ten  that  night  Clifford  sat  at  a  little 
table  in  the  Gold  Room  at  the  Grantham.  There 
had  come  a  message  from  Uncle  George  that  he 
should  be  in  this  room  at  this  hour.  Beyond  this  the 
message  had  said  nothing. 

Clifford  had  wandered  through  the  score  of  big 
public  rooms  that  comprised  the  first  two  floors  of 
the  Grantham  —  the  lounges,  the  parlors,  the  half- 
dozen  restaurants  —  with  the  feverish  hope  that  he 
might  glimpse  Mary  Regan  (so  little  effect  had 
Uncle  George's  wisdom  had  upon  him!),  but  with 
no  idea  of  what  he  should  do  or  say  should  he  see 
her.  He  had  had  an  impulse  to  call  again  at  her 
suite,  but  had  restrained  himself  from  that  folly. 
He  now  glanced  through  the  slowly  filling  Gold 

75 


MARY  REGAN 

Room,  but  he  did  not  sight  her.  He  wondered  just 
where  she  was  —  what  she  was  thinking  of  —  what 
she  was  planning.  Should  he,  if  all  other  methods 
failed,  block  her  worldly  plans  and  the  as  yet  un- 
penetrated  scheme  of  Loveman  and  Bradley  by  tell 
ing  the  Mortons  who  she  was?  He  felt  himself  a 
cad  whenever  he  thought  of  it;  but,  yes,  if  he  had  to, 
he  would  do  it!  ... 

A  hand  fell  upon  his  shoulder.  "Wake  up  there, 
you  old  crystal-gazer!"  called  a  cheerful  voice. 

Clifford  looked  up.  Smiling  down  on  him  was  a 
cherubic  face :  a  somewhat  elderly  cherub,  to  be  sure, 
since  where  usually  there  is  the  adornment  of  di 
vine  curls  there  was  the  glaze  of  baldness. 

"Sit  down,  Loveman,  and  join  me  in  a  drink." 

"I'm  afraid  of  you,  my  boy,"  answered  the  fa 
mous  little  lawyer.  "You  might  put  poison  in  my 
cup." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  lied  to  you  —  you  see,  I'm  not  wait 
ing  to  be  accused,"  the  other  smiled  affably.  "I 
told  you  I  did  n't  know  where  Mary  Regan  was, 
and  after  that  you  followed  me  and  I  led  you  right 
to  her.  She  telephoned  me  about  your  finding  her. 
You  sure  caught  me  dead  to  rights." 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  do  anything  with  you,  Love 
man,  —  though  that  was  the  second  fib  you  told  me 
about  her." 

"Both  gentleman's  lies  —  told  for  a  lady's  sake," 
amiably  explained  Loveman.  "She  did  n't  want  her 

76 


MARY  REGAN 

whereabouts  known.    But  now  that  you've  found 
her,  what 're  you  going  to  do?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  can  do  anything."  And  then 
Clifford  chanced  a  shot.  "You  see,  I  learned  that 
she  is  secretly  engaged  to  Jack  Morton." 

"You  don't  say!"  exclaimed  the  little  man.  "That 
is  astounding!  Well,  well  —  I'll  have  a  look  into 
that  and  see  what's  to  be  done." 

He  rubbed  his  shining  crown  in  bewildered 
thoughtfulness,  —  Clifford  had  to  admire  his  art 
as  an  actor,  —  then  again  was  smiling. 

"Wish  you'd  join  me  after  a  while  at  supper,  Clif 
ford.  Little  party  I  'm  giving  Nina  Cordova  —  got 
to  cheer  her  up  a  bit,  you  understand.  You  know 
'Orange  Blossoms'  is  one  God-awful  flivver,  and 
Nina,  poor  orphan-child,  don't  know  what  to  do. 
Gee,  but  it's  a  rotten  show,  and  what  it  didn't 
do  to  kill  itself  Nina  did  for  it :  she  sure  is  one  musi 
cal-comedy  prima  donna  that  ought  to  be  seen  and 
not  heard!  And  even  at  that,  seen  too  oft,  familiar 
with  her  face  —  oh,  go  ask  the  box-office  man  to 
finish  the  quotation.  So  I'm  giving  her  this  little 
party  to  boost  her  spirits  —  though  why  should  n't 
somebody  be  giving  me  a  party  to  cheer  me  up 
for  the  twenty  thousand  United  States  of  America 
dollars  that  dropped  through  the  bottom  of  that 
show?"  He  gave  a  moan  of  mock  self-sympathy. 
"Well,  you'll  join  us  when  the  crowd  blows  in?" 

"Thanks,  but  I'm  waiting  for  a  friend." 

"Break  away  if  you  can;  be  glad  to  have  you." 

77 


MARY  REGAN 

Clifford  watched  the  strange  little  notable,  behind 
whose  light  chatter  he  knew  to  be  the  cleverest  legal 
brain  of  its  sort  in  New  York,  cross  to  a  small  corner 
table,  which  was  reserved  for  him  every  night  and 
was  known  to  the  waiters  here  as  "Mr.  Loveman's 
table."  He  saw  Loveman  converse  in  turn  with 
various  people,  and  in  a  general  way  he  understood ; 
for  at  this  table,  during  the  play  hours  of  the  night, 
Loveman  transacted  many  of  the  affairs  too  delicate 
to  be  brought  to  his  office  or  his  apartment.  And  he 
saw  Loveman,  while  he  chatted,  gaze  about  upon 
those  gathering  for  supper  and  dancing.  There  were 
people  here  whose  family  names  were  daily  in  the 
society  and  Wall  Street  columns  —  most  of  them 
here  with  no  intent  more  reprehensible  than  the  rest 
less  search  for  pleasure,  which  in  this  our  present 
day  has  become  public  pleasure.  Loveman  smiled 
on  them  most  kindly :  as  why  should  n't  he,  thought 
Clifford,  since  many  of  them  were  working  for  him, 
though  they  guessed  it  not? 

Loveman's  party  now  arrived  and  were  seating 
themselves  at  a  large  table  directly  beside  the  danc 
ing-floor.  There  were  Jack  Morton,  his  father,  Nina 
Cordova,  two  other  actresses,  and  half  a  dozen  men 
and  women  of  the  smart  young  society  set.  Love 
man  was  at  his  best,  keeping  his  party  in  highest 
spirits :  no  man  in  New  York  was  his  superior  as  mid 
night  host. 

As  Clifford  watched  the  gay  supper  progress,  he 
wondered  what  other  of  these  guests  the  gay  Love- 

78 


MARY  REGAN 

man  might  be  deftly  drawing  into  some  distant 
entanglement. 

Presently  some  one  took  the  chair  opposite  Clif 
ford.  It  was  Uncle  George;  and  Uncle  George  gave 
him  a  slight  wink  of  a  lashless  eye. 

"While  we're  on  the  subject,  son,"  the  old  man 
began,  "I  might  remark  that  I  put  a  bee  in  little 
Nina's  bonnet." 

"Just  what  have  you  got  me  here  for?"  demanded 
Clifford. 

"It's  always  worth  while,  son,  to  watch  Loveman 
improve  each  midnight  hour.  See  how  he  smiles  and 
talks  —  and  yet,  God,  how  he 's  working !  But  you  're 
here,  son,  because  of  Father  Morton ;  and  also,  per 
haps,  to  see  if  Nina's  bee  buzzes.  How  about  split 
ting  fifty-fifty  on  a  ham  sandwich?" 

As  the  two  ate  the  best  supper  Uncle  George 
could  order,  Clifford  kept  his  eyes  on  Loveman's 
party.  They  were  now  leaving  the  table  in  couples 
to  dance.  Nina  Cordova,  a  slender  blonde  with  a 
soft,  appealing  face  and  quick,  bright  eye,  was  with 
Jack  Morton ;  dancing  was  something  they  both  did 
well;  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  slender  prima 
donna  had  more  than  a  dancing  interest  in  her  part 
ner.  Then  Loveman  danced  with  her;  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  dance  they  halted  beside  Clifford's 
table. 

"Finish  this  with  me,  Uncle  George,"  coaxed  the 
little  star. 

"My  dear  child,"  returned  the  old  man,  "if 

79 


MARY  REGAN 

you'd  spoken  to  me  a  little  earlier,  say  bout  1871, 
I  'd  have  danced  with  you  till  that  orchestra  dropped 
dead.  But  now,  why,  I  'd  just  fall  apart  on  the  floor. 
Ask  Clifford  there." 

She  smiled  at  Clifford  and  the  next  moment  he 
was  fox-trotting  with  her.  She  was  certainly  a  mar 
vel  of  a  dancer;  also,  beneath  her  ingenue  surface,  she 
had  a  keen  brain  of  her  own  sort;  and  in  her  light 
chatter  as  they  swung  about  he  sensed  that  she  was 
trying  to  search  his  mind  —  and  he  sensed  also  that 
she  was  doing  this  at  the  instigation  of  Loveman. 
But  he  parried  so  well  that  he  believed  she  did  not 
even  know  he  was  fencing. 

"Clever  girl,  Uncle  George,"  he  said  when  he  was 
back  at  his  table. 

"Son,  you  said  something  then,"  affirmed  the  old 
man.  "Unless  my  hunch  works  wrong  you'll  some 
day  find  her  mixed  up  in  this  affair;  and  when  you  do 
meet  up  with  her,  son,  you'd  better  forget  that, 
according  to  the  date  written  down  in  her  press- 
agent's  Bible,  that  dear  little  child  is  only  twenty- 
one." 

Clifford  looked  over  at  her  thoughtfully.  She 
danced  half  a  dozen  dances  with  Jack  Morton;  and 
Clifford,  watching  everything,  guessed  that  the 
elder  Morton  was  none  too  pleased.  And  then  she 
danced  again  with  Loveman;  and  he  saw  that  she 
was  talking  imperiously  to  the  little  lawyer;  and  if 
only  he  could  have  overheard  he  might  have  given 
more  weight  to  Uncle  George's  prediction  that  Nina 

80 


MARY  REGAN 

Cordova  was  to  play  some  considerable  part  before 
the  final  curtain  fell. 

"Peter,"  she  was  saying,  "since '  Orange  Blossoms ' 
is  such  a  fizzle,  I  'm  going  to  quit  the  show  business, 
and  marry  some  nice  young  man." 

"But,  my  child,  your  art!"  protested  Loveman. 

"My  art  be  damned!"  replied  the  pretty  one. 
"And,  Peter,  I  Ve  decided  that  the  nice  young  man 
will  be  Jack  Morton." 

Loveman  gave  her  a  sharp  look.  But  if  he  felt  any 
alarm,  his  voice  gave  no  evidence  of  it. 

"Better  think  again,  dearie.  He'll  not  have  for 
gotten  the  way  you  threw  him  down." 

"•Give  me  a  week  and  I  '11  make  him  forget  it,"  she 
returned  confidently. 

"If  you  are  set  on  getting  married,  Nina  dear, 
I'll  help  you  find  another  candidate,"  said  Loveman 
in  his  soft,  advisory  tone.  "This  town's  full  of 
rich  young  fellows.  Just  look  'em  over,  make  your 
choice,  and  I  '11  help  you  out  with  the  rest." 

"I  don't  want  any  other!" 

"I  don't  think  Jack  Morton  will  do,  my  dear." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  think,  dearie,  that  there  are  other  arrange 
ments  —  " 

"You  mean  that  you  have  other  arrangements!" 
she  said  sharply. 

' '  There  now,  dearie,  don't  get  excited.  This  town 's 
full  of  nice  men  —  " 

"You  can't  bluff  me,  Peter!  I  see  through  you  — • 
81 


MARY  REGAN 

you  don't  want  me  to  marry  Jack."  The  little 
ingenue  was  suddenly  a  little  fury  —  but  a  composed 
fury.  "Peter,  I  know  a  lot,"  she  said  quietly,  "and 
unless  you  behave  about  the  way  I  want  you  to,  I 
may  do  something  that  won't  make  you  awfully 
happy." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  threat  in  that  voice, 
and  that  threat  was  not  to  be  underrated.  Love- 
man  had  no  intention  of  yielding;  the  situation  re 
quired  careful  handling  and  perhaps  quick  action 
elsewhere;  in  the  meantime  the  thing  to  do  was  to 
temporize. 

"All  right,  dearie,  —  we'll  fix  it  up,"  he  said  sooth 
ingly.  "There's  Jack  Morton  waiting  for  us;  I'll 
turn  you  right  over  to  him." 

As  Clifford  saw  Nina  and  young  Morton  begin 
a  fox-trot,  a  passing  waiter  handed  Clifford  a  card. 
On  it  was  engraved,  "Mr.  James  Morton"  and 
around  the  name  was  scribbled,  "Wait  for  me  in  the 
lounge  just  off  the  bar." 

Clifford  descended  to  the  Grantham's  lounge, 
which  was  fitted  in  the  manner  of  the  smartest  and 
most  exclusive  of  men's  clubs.  Five  minutes  later 
Mr.  Morton  entered  and  came  straight  to  him.  Clif 
ford  had  already  made  his  private  estimate  of  this 
man  with  the  graying  hair  and  distinguished  face: 
a  man  whose  habit  it  was  to  buy  men,  —  and  women, 
too,  —  use  them,  and  when  finished  with  them, 
throw  them  aside  without  a  thought  and  go  on  his 
way. 

82 


MARY  REGAN 

" I've  heard  of  you,  Mr.  Clifford,"  he  began,  when 
they  were  seated  in  deep  chairs  beside  a  little  table. 
"They  say  you  are  a  detective  who's  absolutely  on 
the  square." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Clifford. 

"  I  did  n't  call  you  down  to  pay  you  compliments," 
the  other  said  incisively,  eyeing  him  keenly,  "so  I  '11 
go  right  to  the  point.  You  know  my  son?" 

"Yes." 

" It's  about  Jack  I  want  to  see  you."  Mr.  Morton 
spoke  in  the  compact  sentences  of  a  master  of  affairs. 
"I  guess  you  know  he's  been  some  trouble.  I'm 
certain  something's  in  the  air  now.  I  don't  know 
whether  it's  that  Miss  Cordova  or  something  else. 
I  can't  get  anything  out  of  Jack.  I  Ve  been  having 
him  looked  over  by  a  private  detective;  you  know 
him  —  Bradley;  but  Bradley  doesn't  seem  to  be 
able  to  learn  anything  either.  I  'm  not  one  hundred 
per  cent  trustful  of  Bradley :  set  a  detective  to  catch 
a  detective  —  that  might  prove  a  good  idea.  Will 
you  undertake  the  job?  —  finding  out  about  Brad 
ley,  and  finding  out  about  my  son?" 

"  I  can't  say  until  I  know  the  situation."  Here  was 
opening  before  him  the  chance  he  had  been  work 
ing  for,  but  Clifford  managed  to  speak  composedly. 
"If  you  don't  mind  telling  me,  just  how  do  things 
stand?" 

"If  you  know  Jack,  you  know  what  his  idea  of 
living  in  New  York  was  a  year  or  six  months  ago. 
I  could  n't  leave  my  affairs  and  come  here  to  look 

83 


MARY  REGAN 

after  him.  I  ordered  my  lawyer,  Mr.  Loveman,  to 
take  whatever  steps  were  necessary.  It  was  abso 
lutely  essential  that  Jack  should  take  a  brace  — 

"Pardon  me.  Aside  from  the  moral  reasons,  were 
there  any  other  reasons  for  your  wanting  Jack  to 
change  his  habits?" 

"There  was,  and  still  is,  an  engagement  with  a 
young  woman  back  in  Chicago.  Not  exactly  an 
engagement,  rather  an  understanding  between  the 
families.  The  match  could  not  be  more  desirable; 
the  young  lady  has  everything." 

"  Pardon  me  —  do  I  know  the  young  lady  you  re 
fer  to?  " 

'  You  may  have  heard  of  her.  Her  father  is  Sher 
wood  Jones.  She  is  Miss  Maisie  Jones." 

"  I  have  seen  her  picture  in  the  illustrated  Sun 
day  supplements  —  among  prominent  young  society 
girls." 

'Then  you  can  partially  understand  why  I  con 
sider  the  match  so  desirable.  But  the  family  at 
that  time  objected,  and  still  objects  —  until  Jack 
proves  that  he  has  settled  down.  Three  months  ago 
I  came  East  and  delivered  an  ultimatum." 

"In  the  presence  of  Jack  alone?"  Clifford  put  in 
gently. 

"No.  Mr.  Loveman  had  been  doing  his  best  to 
control  the  boy.  Naturally  he  was  present." 

"And  the  ultimatum?" 

"I  said  that  he  either  had  to  take  a  brace  or  I 
was  through  with  him." 

84 


MARY  REGAN 

"Let's  see  whether  I  get  the  general  idea."  Clif 
ford  was  moving  forward  carefully.  "  If  Jack  did  n't 
brace  up,  he  'd  have  to  earn  his  own  money.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  he  did  brace  up,  the  idea  was  that  he 
was  to  quit  New  York  and  marry  the  young  lady 
you  have  referred  to." 

"That 'sit  exactly." 

"Did  you  suggest  any  particular  plan  for  his 
bracing  up?" 

"I  said  he  had  to  spend  a  period  at  some  quiet 
place  far  away  from  New  York." 

"And  what  did  Mr.  Loveman  think  of  this 
idea?" 

"He  thought  it  was  just  the  plan.  In  fact  he 
said  he  knew  the  very  place  for  Jack  to  go  to  —  Pine 
Mountain  Lodge." 

"Then  he  suggested  Pine  Mountain  Lodge?" 

"Yes." 

Clifford  was  silent  a  moment. 

"You  have  told  Mr.  Loveman  and  Mr.  Bradley  of 
your  intention  to  consult  me?" 

"No." 

"I  suggest  that  you  do  not.  Is  there  any  other 
information  you  can  give  me?" 

"Nothing  else  that's  definite.  But  I  suspect  a  lot, 
and  I  want  to  find  out  what 's  doing.  Will  you  take 
the  case?" 

Clifford  spoke  guardedly,  masking  his  dislike  for 
the  ruthless  man  before  him.  "I  prefer  not  to  con 
sider  myself  retained  by  you  until  I  am  certain  I  can 

85 


MARY  REGAN 

serve  you.  I  '11  have  to  think  the  situation  over,  and 
let  you  know  later." 

It  was  little  that  Mr.  Morton  had  told  Clifford, 
yet,  after  Morton  had  left  him,  that  little  set  Clif 
ford's  mind  going  like  a  racer.  He  sat  thinking  — 
thinking;  and  after  a  time  he  began  to  perceive  dim 
outlines  of  what  Loveman's  plan  might  be.  And  as 
with  growing  excitement  he  began  to  see,  he  began 
also  to  consider  what  his  own  course  should  be.  .  .  . 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  half-past  three. 
He  started  back  for  the  Gold  Room,  but  on  the  way 
up  he  saw  Loveman  and  his  party  leaving.  He 
quickly  secured  his  coat  and  hat  and  followed  them 
out  just  in  time  to  see  Loveman  go  off  in  a  taxi  with 
Nina  Cordova.  He  was  after  them  in  another  taxi, 
a  discreet  block  behind.  Five  minutes  later  Love 
man  set  Miss  Cordova  down  at  her  hotel,  and  went 
on  to  his  own  home. 

Clifford  dismissed  his  taxi,  waited  ten  minutes, 
then  crossed  and  entered  Loveman's  apartment 
house. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
IN  LOVEMAN'S  LIBRARY 

THE  drowsy  elevator  boy  carried  Clifford  to  the 
eleventh  floor,  and  Clifford  rang  Loveman's  bell. 
After  a  moment  the  door  was  opened  by  Loveman's 
Japanese  butler,  to  whom  Clifford,  after  stepping  in, 
gave  his  card.  The  little  Oriental,  showing  no  slight 
est  surprise  at  a  call  at  such  an  hour,  disappeared 
noiselessly  through  a  door;  and  reappeared  after  a 
brief  delay  and  held  the  door  open  as  a  sign  that 
Clifford  was  to  enter. 

Clifford  stepped  through  the  doorway  and  found 
himself  in  the  large  richly  furnished  library  of  Peter 
Loveman.  Loveman,  in  a  rope-girdled  dressing-gown 
and  with  his  tonsured  head  looking  very  much  a 
jolly  little  monk,  crossed  the  room  with  smiling  hos 
pitality.  In  a  deep,  tapestried  chair,  wearing  a  din 
ner  jacket,  sat  the  square  figure  of  Bradley. 

"This  is  a  surprise,  Clifford!"  cried  Loveman,  tak 
ing  his  hand.  "And  a  pleasure,  too,  —  also  a  relief: 
dropping  in  on  a  pair  of  grouches,  just  as  they  were 
getting  ready  to  murder  each  other  to  drive  dull  care 
away.  You  there,  you  other  grouch,"  —  to  Bradley, 
—  "say  good-evening  to  our  relief  expedition." 

Bradley,  without  rising,  nodded  curtly.  Clifford 
gave  back  a  similar  greeting. 

87 


MARY  REGAN 

"Off  with  your  overcoat,  Clifford,"  the  little  man 
said  briskly,  "and  make  yourself  comfortable." 

"I'll  keep  it  on,  Loveman.  I  can  only  stay  a  few 
minutes." 

"Well,  anyhow,  sit  down,"  and  Loveman  pushed 
him  into  a  chair  and  gestured  toward  a  little  table  on 
which  stood  bottles  and  glasses  and  siphons.  "All  the 
ingredients  here  of  the  Fountain  of  Perpetual  Youth : 
what '11  you  have  —  high-ball,  cocktail,  liqueur  —  or 
shall  I  have  Oni  bring  you  a  split  of  champagne?" 

"Thanks,  I'm  not  drinking  to-night." 

"Smoke,  then?"  offering  cigars  and  cigarettes. 

"No,  thank  you." 

"Say,  you're  making  a  host  look  dam'  inhospit 
able,"  humorously  complained  the  little  man.  "  How 
about  a  little  whist?  I'll  run  the  dummy.  Brad 
ley  there  loves  it:  he's  acting  vice-chairman  of  the 
Daughters  of  Brooklyn  Memorial  and  Bridge  As- 
soci — " 

"Cut  it  out!"  growled  Bradley.  "Ask  him  what 
he  wants." 

"Pardon  him,  Clifford:  Bradley 's  a  gentleman  of 
no  social  parts.  But  since  he  has  mentioned  the 
point  —  is  there  anything  special  you  came  for?" 

"I  came  to  talk,"  said  Clifford. 

"Talk  —  good !  Talking 's  my  trade ! "  Loveman 
drew  up  a  chair,  so  that  the  three  of  them  formed  a 
square,  the  table  of  bottles  filling  the  fourth  side. 
"Let  'er  go  —  guest  has  the  opening  speech." 

"I  suppose,  Clifford,  that  this  is  where  you'd  like 

88 


MARY  REGAN 

to  have  me  make  a  quick  exit,"  said  Bradley  —  and 
he  crossed  his  legs,  folded  his  arms,  bit  upon  his  inva 
riable  big  cigar,  and  gave  Clifford  a  challenging  look. 

"On  the  other  hand,  Bradley,"  Clifford  returned, 
"I  count  it  luck  that  I  found  you  here,  and  I  beg 
you  as  a  favor  to  remain.  Bradley,  Loveman,"  he 
said  sharply,  "  I  Ve  come  here  for  a  showdown  —  to 
tell  you  that  I'm  on  to  your  little  game!" 

"Our  game?"  queried  Loveman,  with  puzzled 
blandness. 

"Your  game  with  Mary  Regan  and  the  Mortons." 

' '  I  ndeed ! ' '  Loveman  said  softly.  ' '  Now,  I  wonder 
if  you'd  mind  giving  a  little  information  to  an  ig 
norant  man?" 

Bradley's  face  had  suddenly  become  hard;  his 
little  eyes  were  gleaming.  But  though  Loveman's 
manner  was  blandly  puzzled,  Clifford  knew  the 
little  lawyer  was  as  alertly  watchful  of  him  as 
was  Bradley  —  and  was  as  much  to  be  watched. 

"  I  '11  put  all  my  cards  on  the  table,  Loveman,"  he 
said  with  deliberation.  "I'll  tell  you  exactly  what 
I  know  —  which  is  also  exactly  what  you  know. 
There's  nothing  at  all  extraordinary  about  it;  it's 
just  the  sort  of  thing  that  with  a  few  variations 
you're  doing  over  and  over." 

"Oh,  I  say,  am  I  really  so  monotonous!"  pro 
tested  Loveman. 

"You  said  you  were  going  to  put  your  cards  on 
the  table,"  cut  in  Bradley.  "Come  on,  let's  see 
your  two-spots." 

89 


MARY  REGAN 

"We'll  go  back  a  bit,  Loveman,"  said  Clifford. 
"Morton,  senior,  had  entrusted  you  with  the  legal 
end  of  some  of  his  New  York  affairs;  and  when  Jack 
Morton  came  to  New  York,  and  began  to  get  him 
self  tangled  up  through  having  too  much  money,  the 
father  put  it  up  to  you  to  extricate  his  son.  Good 
profit  in  handling  such  affairs,  Loveman:  nice  fee 
for  legal  services  rendered;  a  private  split  of  the 
sums  for  which  the  matters  were  settled;  and  an 
unobtrusive  arrangement  whereby  the  son  could  be 
drawn  into  further  profitable  predicaments.  A  big- 
paying  business,  Loveman." 

"Go  on,"  said  the  little  lawyer  pleasantly. 

"Three  or  four  months  ago  the  father  descended 
upon  New  York  in  a  fury.  He  declared  he  was 
through  settling  for  Jack's  troubles.  He  was  going  to 
send  Jack  somewhere  far  away  from  New  York  — 
and  Jack  had  to  take  a  brace,  or  the  father  would 
drop  him.  Also  there  was  a  marriage  with  a  rich 
girl  that  the  father  wanted  to  put  across  —  and 
there 'd  be  nothing  doing  unless  Jack  straightened 
up.  So  Jack  simply  had  to  be  braced  up.  Right 
there,  Loveman,  was  where  you  saw  yourself  losing 
a  big  piece  of  your  income.  But  you  did  some  quick 
thinking,  and  you  fell  in  with  the  father's  idea  that 
Jack  should  be  sent  into  retirement  to  reform.  In 
fact,  you  knew  the  very  place,  Pine  Mountain  Lodge. 
And  on  your  suggestion  Jack  was  sent  there." 

"And  if  I  did  mention  Pine  Mountain  Lodge, 
what  of  that?"  Loveman  mildly  inquired. 

90 


MARY  REGAN 

"You  knew  Mary  Regan  was  there,  and  knew  she 
was  the  only  attractive  woman  staying  at  the  hotel. 
And  you  knew  that  Jack  Morton  fell  for  about  every 
pretty  woman  that  he  met.  Thrown  together  in  that 
isolation,  you  had  n't  a  doubt  of  what  he  would  do. 
It  was  only  a  chance  —  but  it  was  your  only  chance; 
and  if  it  worked  out  the  way  you  thought  it  might, 
there  would  be  rich  possibilities  in  the  situation  for 
you  —  without  your  seeming  to  have  been  mixed 
in  the  affair.  Well,  it  worked  out  just  as  you 
thought  it  might  —  and  the  possibilities  lie  ready 
to  your  hand." 

"In  case  I'm  overlooking  anything  good,"  Love- 
man  remarked  in  the  same  gentle  voice,  "would  you 
mind  telling  me  just  what  these  possibilities  are?" 

"Of  course  the  marriage  had  to  be  secret;  other 
wise  the  possibilities  would  have  been  cut  down  by 
two  thirds.  First  item,  after  the  marriage  had  taken 
place,  there  was  the  possibility  of  getting  hush  money 
out  of  Mary  Regan  by  threatening  to  expose  her. 
You  would  never  have  appeared  in  this;  Bradley 
would  have  attended  to  this  detail  —  perhaps 
through  one  of  his  men.  Second,  after  you  had  ex 
hausted  the  possibilities  of  blackmail,  the  next  step 
would  have  been  to  inform  the  father  that  you  sus 
pected  something  was  wrong  with  Jack.  The  father 
would  order  the  matter  looked  into;  you  would  en 
gage  Bradley  for  the  job,  and  after  a  lengthy  examina 
tion  Bradley  would  report  a  secret  marriage  —  a  big 
bill  for  detective  services.  Third,  you  would  then 


MARY  REGAN 

be  retained  to  annul  the  marriage  —  and  a  big  fee 
there.  Well,  Loveman,  Bradley,"  he  ended  grimly, 
"I  believe  that's  just  about  the  outline  of  this  par 
ticular  sweet  little  game!" 

Bradley  was  glaring  at  him,  his  square  jaws 
clamped  upon  his  cigar.  Little  Loveman,  still  with 
his  affable  look,  was  twirling  the  tasseled  end  of  his 
girdle  around  a  chubby  forefinger. 

"You're  very  ingenious,  very  imaginative,  Clif 
ford.  But  granting  for  the  moment  that  you  are 
correct,  what  next?" 

Clifford  leaned  sharply  forward.  "You  are  not 
going  through  with  it!  I'm  going  to  stop  you!" 

Clifford  gazed  tensely  at  the  two  men.  A  slight 
quivering  ran  through  Bradley 's  frame;  his  cigar 
fell,  bitten  through;  his  small,  brilliant  eyes  were 
points  of  vicious  flame.  Loveman  still  twirled  the 
end  of  his  girdle,  but  now  a  bit  more  slowly.  And 
thus  the  three  sat  for  several  moments. 

Then  suddenly,  without  warning  of  word,  seem 
ingly  without  any  preliminary  motion,  Bradley's 
powerful  body  launched  itself  from  a  sitting  posture 
straight  at  Clifford.  Clifford  started  to  rise,  and  in 
stinctively  threw  up  his  arms;  but  to  no  avail,  for 
Bradley's  big  hands  broke  past  his  weak  defense  and 
gripped  his  throat.  His  chair  went  toppling  over,  the 
table  with  its  cargo  of  liquors  went  crashing  to  the 
floor,  and  Clifford  was  carried  resistlessly  backward 
by  the  force  of  Bradley's  lunge,  until  he  came  up 
against  the  great  library  table.  Over  this  he  toppled, 

92 


MARY  REGAN 

his  spine  against  the  table's  edge,  and  Bradley  drove 
his  head  down  upon  the  wood  with  a  terrific  thump. 

4 '  You  '11  stop  nothing ! ' '  grated  Bradley.  ' '  You  Ve 
butted  into  my  affairs  for  the  last  time!" 

Clifford  tried  to  struggle  free,  but  he  was  caught 
at  too  hopeless  a  disadvantage  —  his  spine  upon  the 
edge  of  the  table,  Bradley's  weight  crushing  upon 
him,  and  that  pair  of  hands  clutching  his  throat.  He 
could  move  only  his  arms,  and  those  to  no  purpose; 
he  could  not  cry  out;  he  could  not  breathe.  As  his 
chest  heaved  for  lack  of  air,  he  read  his  doom  in  the 
deadly  fury  of  Bradley's  face.  And  he  realized,  even 
could  he  call  for  help,  the  futility  of  such  an  outcry 
in  this  apartment  at  the  top  of  a  lofty  building,  at 
this  heavily  slumbrous  hour  of  four. 

He  had  been  faintly  conscious  of  hurried  f umblings 
about  the  desk  —  of  the  snap  of  a  lock  —  of  the 
whine  of  a  sliding  drawer.  Now,  suddenly,  as  his 
wide  eyes  were  growing  bleared,  he  saw  a  dark 
something  appear  between  his  face  and  the  face  of 
Bradley  a  bare  two  feet  away.  And  then  he  saw 
the  something  was  a  short,  black  pistol,  and  that  the 
pistol  was  flush  against  Bradley's  jaw,  and  that 
the  pistol  was  gripped  in  a  soft,  round  hand  that  was 
indubitably  Loveman's.  And  he  heard  Loverman's 
voice,  no  longer  velvety,  snap  out:  — 

"Damn  you,  Bradley,  —  that  rough  stuff  don't 
go  with  me!  Let  loose  of  him,  or,  by  God,  I  '11  blow 
your  dam'  face  off!" 

Clifford  saw  Bradley's  flaming  little  eyes  shift 

93 


MARY  REGAN 

toward  the  speaker.  Then  he  saw  the  monk-like 
figure  shift  the  pistol  from  jaw  to  Bradley's  shoulder. 

"No,  I'll  not  kill  you;  I'll  splinter  your  dam' 
bones/'  the  sharp  voice  cried  with  fierce  decision. 
"Get  off  that  man  before  I  count  three,  or  your  left 
arm '11  be  the  first  bone  to  go.  One  —  two  — " 

The  hands  left  Clifford's  throat,  and  the  heavy 
figure  lifted  itself  from  his  body;  and,  thus  freed, 
Clifford  slumped  to  the  floor  where  he  sat  limply, 
pantingly,  against  the  table.  Loveman  had  stepped 
around  the  table,  and  Clifford  now  saw  that  he  was 
looking  up  at  Bradley,  and  he  saw  that  the  cherubic, 
large-eyed  face  of  the  lawyer  was  grim  with  an  awful 
wrath. 

"You  dam'  big  boob!"  cried  the  little  man. 
4 'You'd  let  yourself  —  and  me!  —  in  for  a  criminal 
charge!  And  people  have  always  said  you  have  a 
brain!" 

"I've  taken  all  I  can  from  him!"  Bradley  said 
thickly. 

"Either  you  control  your  temper  and  cut  out  the 
rough  stuff,"  snapped  Loveman,  "or  you  and  I  are 
through!" 

The  pair  gazed  fixedly  at  each  other.  Neither 
spoke.  While  they  stood  silent,  Clifford  became 
aware  of  the  Japanese  butler,  his  back  toward  the 
three  of  them  and  seemingly  unaware  of  their  doings, 
on  his  knees  picking  up  bottles  and  broken  glass  and 
toweling  up  the  spilled  liquor  from  the  rug. 

Without  replying,  Bradley  put  his  hands  in  his 

94 


MARY  REGAN 

trousers'  pockets,  resumed  his  chair,  and  crossed 
his  legs.  With  an  easy  motion  Loveman  dropped  the 
pistol  into  a  pocket  of  his  dressing-gown,  and  stepped 
to  Clifford's  side.  He  was  again  the  agreeable  man- 
about-town  that  Broadway  liked  so  well. 

"Too  bad  —  but  natural  —  the  way  men  will  lose 
their  tempers,"  he  said,  as  he  helped  Clifford  to  his 
feet  and  into  a  chair.  "How 're  you  feeling?" 

" I'll  be  alf right  in  a  breath  or  two." 

"Better  let  me  give  you  a  brandy?" 

"No,  thanks." 

"Aw,  it's  nothing!"  cut  in  Bradley.  "Let him 
finish  saying  how  he  was  going  to  stop  us!" 

" Do  you  feel  like  that  —  yet?"  Loveman  queried 
solicitously. 

Clifford  was  still  dazed,  but  he  was  no  less  set  in  his 
purpose.  "Bradley 's  right  —  a  little  scuffle  like  that 
is  nothing." 

"Good;  a  great  thing  to  be  in  training!"  Loveman 
sank  into  his  chair,  smiling  urbanely.  "We've  for 
gotten  what's  happened";  and  he  brushed  the  mat 
ter  into  oblivion  with  a  pleasant  wave  of  the  hand 
that  two  minutes  before  had  gripped  the  pistol.  "As 
I  was  about  to  remark  —  granting  that  you  are 
right,  how  are  you  going  to  stop  it?" 

"Of  course  I  could  stop  it,"  said  Clifford,  "by 
telling  Jack  and  Mr.  Morton  about  Mary  Regan 
and  her  father  and  her  uncle  and  her  brother.  At 
any  rate,  that  would  smash  your  game." 

"As  you  say,  provided,  of  course,  there  is  a  con- 

95 


MARY  REGAN 

templated  marriage,  that  would  stop  it,"  Loveman 
agreed  pleasantly.    "Why  don't  you  do  that?" 

"Considering  the  character  of  the  Mortons  and 
the  fact  that  she 's  more  worth  while  than  they  are, 
telling  on  her  seems  to  me  a  pretty  raw  deal  to  give 
Mary  Regan:  to  show  her  up  to  them,  and  give  the 
father,  who's  as  sympathetic  as  a  shark,  a  chance  to 
take  the  lead,  break  it  off,  make  a  scandal  out  of  it, 
and  to  humiliate  her  in  public." 

"That's  dam'  delicate  of  you,  Clifford,"  said  Love 
man,  "and  I  approve  of  your  sentiments  as  a  gen 
tleman.  But  if  you  don't  do  that,  how  else  are  you 
going  to  stop  it?" 

Clifford  spoke  calmly.  "I'm  going  to  stop  it 
through  you." 

"Through  me!  Well,  well!  Do  you  mind  telling 
me,  Clifford,  just  how  I  am  going  to  do  it?" 

"You  have  some  influence  over  Mary  Regan;  I 
don't  pretend  to  know  what  it  is.  You  go  to  her 
to-morrow  and  you  tell  her,  saying  whatever  is 
necessary  to  bring  her  around,  that  she  can't  go 
through  with  the  marriage.  Then  she  breaks  it  off 
-  and  not  the  Mortons,  and  they  '11  not  be  any  the 
wiser  about  her." 

"Well,  well,  you  certainly  do  seem  to  think  I  have 
a  very  strong  influence  with  the  ladies,"  Loveman 
said  blandly.  "Very  flattering,  I  assure  you.  But 
supposing  —  all  we  Ve  been  talking  about  is  mere 
supposition,  you  know  —  supposing  I  have  a  mild 
disinclination  to  do  what  you  propose?" 

Q6 


MARY  REGAN 

"Supposing  that,"  Clifford  returned  grimly,  ''then 
I  go  to  Mr.  Morton,  tell  him  about  Mary  Regan, 
and  tell  him  the  whole  thing  was  your  plan.  And 
he'll  believe  what  I  say  about  you,  Loveman;  I've 
merely  got  to  remind  him  that  you  suggested  Pine 
Mountain  Lodge,  prove  to  him  that  you  knew  Mary 
Regan  was  there,  prove  to  him  that  you've  been 
seeing  Mary  Regan  in  New  York,  and  he'll  swallow 
everything  else.  Result,  the  present  scheme  of  you 
and  Bradley  goes  smash,  and,  further,  you  lose 
all  future  business  with  your  best-paying  client." 

4 'Supposing,  on  the  other  hand,"  Loveman  re 
marked  in  his  same  bland  voice,  "that  I  have  no 
disinclination  to  do  what  you  suggest?" 

"In  that  case,  you  only  lose  out  on  your  pres 
ent  plan.  I  'm  not  interested  in  Morton.  You  keep 
his  business.  You  see,  Loveman,  I  Ve  got  you : 
and  what  I  'm  offering  is  the  best  proposition  for 
you." 

Loveman  gently  stroked  his  crown.  "Clifford,  do 
you  believe  in  fairies?" 

"Where  does  that  come  in?" 

"You  ought  to  believe  in  fairies,  Clifford.  You 
really  ought.  With  that  imagination  of  yours, 
you'd  coin  money,  writing  fairy-stories  for  children 
—  simply  coin  money."  He  turned  to  Bradley. 
"What  do  you  say  to  Clifford's  proposition?" 

"Tell  him  to  go  to  hell!"  said  Bradley,  his  old 
hatred  flaring  out. 

"You'll  excuse  Fido's  behavior,  Clifford,"  Love- 
97 


MARY  REGAN 

man  said  apologetically.  "He  has  n't  had  a  biscuit 
all  day." 

"The  real  question  is,"  returned  Clifford,  "what 
does  Peter  Loveman  say  to  the  proposition?" 

"What  do  I  say?  Well,  now,  well,"  Loveman  said 
pleasantly,  "you  know  I  never  did  believe  in  fairies 
and  so  I  can't  be  expected  to  gulp  down  this  remark 
able  little  story  you've  told  me.  But  since  you  are 
interested  in  Miss  Regan,  and  are  concerned  that 
nothing  goes  wrong  with  her  —  why,  for  your  sake, 
of  course  I  '11  do  it  —  I  '11  do  anything  you  say." 

Clifford  stared  penetratingly  at  the  round  face, 
which  never  before  looked  more  like  the  face  of  an 
amiable  monk.  Behind  that  amiable  face  was  a  swift 
thought  that,  after  all,  he  might  slip  Nina  Cordova 
into  this  situation  and  that  he'd  square  matters 
with  Nina  the  first  thing  in  the  morning. 

"You'll  do  it  to-morrow?"  demanded  Clifford. 

"To-morrow  —  sometime  before  noon."  And  as 
Clifford  continued  his  keen  glance:  "You  doubt 
me?  All  right."  He  walked  to  a  section  of  his  book 
shelves  and  came  back  with  a  large,  dingy  volume. 
"Here's  a  Bible  —  a  Gutenberg,  1455.  There  can't 
be  a  holier  Bible  than  this;  just  think,  man,  what 
it  cost.  Go  ahead  —  swear  me." 

" I  guess  you'll  do  it,"  said  Clifford.  He  rose.  "  I 
believe  that's  all,  gentlemen.  Good-night." 

As  he  started  away  Bradley  glowered  at  him ;  but 
Loveman,  slipping  an  arm  through  his,  escorted  him 
to  the  door.  There  Loveman  held  him  for  a  moment. 

98 


MARY  REGAN 

"That  was  one  grand  fairy-tale,  Clifford,  you 
dreamed  about  me,"  he  said  with  a  smile  through 
which  (perhaps  purposely)  there  glinted  ever  so  little 
of  mockery.  "But  supposing  I  do  have  any  little 
plan  under  way,  I  wonder  how  close  you've  come 
to  guessing  it?  Now,  I  wonder?" 

Down  in  the  quiet  street,  Clifford  found  himself 
wondering  too. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  TEST  OF   LIFE 

Now  that  he  had  won,  now  that  the  marriage  and 
Loveman's  plans  were  potentially  blocked,  there 
should  have  been  a  let-down  from  Clifford's  long 
strain.  But  there  was  not.  The  settling  of  this  affair 
seemed  only  to  give  mind-room  to  other  concerns. 
He  tossed  about  restlessly  during  the  few  hours  that 
remained  of  the  night ;  and  he  realized  that  his  rest 
lessness  was  not  due  wholly  to  the  suspense  of  wait 
ing  for  the  finality  that  would  come  with  Love 
man's  completed  promise. 

In  the  slow  hours  before  the  coming  of  the  slate- 
colored  dawn  a  vague,  disturbing  doubt  crept  in 
upon  him.  He  had  interfered  with  events,  he  had 
tried  to  shape  life  upon  his  ideas:  was  his  course 
right?  —  that  seemed  to  be  something  of  the  im 
palpable  substance  of  his  doubt.  But  what  this  new 
doubt  was,  strive  as  he  would  he  could  not  evoke 
it  from  its  vagueness  into  definite  shape. 

He  had  breakfast;  and  then,  obeying  an  impulse 
which  seemed  to  emerge  from  this  new,  obscure  maze 
of  his  mind,  he  suddenly  decided  to  see  Mary  Regan 
again  —  for  what  purpose  he  had  no  idea.  Arrived 
at  the  Grantham  he  had  his  name  'phoned  up  to 
"Mrs.  Gardner,"  and  was  informed  that  Mrs.  Gard 
ner  would  see  him. 

100 


MARY  REGAN 

Mary  herself  admitted  him,  and,  not  even  reply 
ing  to  his  "good-morning,"  she  led  him  into  the 
sitting-room.  There  she  faced  him,  proud  and  coldly 
defiant. 

"I  suppose  you  have  come  to  inform  me  you  have 
told  the  Mortons  all  about  me?" 

"No,"  he  replied. 

"Then,  to  threaten  me  again  that  you  will  tell?" 

"No." 

"Then,  what  have  you  come  for?" 

He  knew  now  —  at  least  partly.  During  the  mo 
ment  he  had  been  in  the  room  and  had  gazed  upon 
her,  there  had  emerged  from  the  maze  of  his  thoughts 
and  feelings,  a  sharply  defined  repugnance  to  what 
within  the  next  hour  or  two  was  to  happen  between 
her  and  Loveman:  a  repugnance,  felt  in  her  behalf, 
that  she  should  be  made  to  yield  to  whatever  in 
fluences  that  cunning  little  lawyer  would  be  able 
to  exert. 

"I  have  come  to  ask  you,"  he  said,  trying  to  speak 
composedly,  but  with  all  his  being  vibrant  beneath 
that  composure,  "to  break  off  this  affair  with  Jack 
Morton  of  your  own  free  will.  You  know  you 
don't  care  for  him.  You  know  what  you  are  planning 
to  do  is  n't  square.  Why  don't  you  be  true  to  the  best 
self  that  is  in  you  and  end  it  all  yourself?  —  and 
end  it  now?  There's  the  telephone,"  he  urged  —  re 
membering  that  Loveman  might  any  moment  ap 
pear —  "call  Jack  Morton  up  and  tell  him  you've 
decided  not  to  do  it!" 

101 


MARY  REGAN 

As  he  spoke,  her  face  had  grown  sharp  with  de 
cision.  "Mr.  Clifford,"  she  exclaimed  in  a  low,  cut 
ting  voice,  "I'm  tired  of  your  presumption,  your 
interference !  I  'm  tired  of  your  trying  to  make  me 
be  what  you  think  I  ought  to  be!  As  if  it  mattered 
to  me  what  you  thought!" 

She  took  a  step  nearer,  her  straight,  young  figure 
stiffened,  and  her  dark  eyes  flashed  at  him.  "  Under 
stand  this,  Mr.  Clifford,  —  I  Ve  made  up  my  mind, 
and  made  it  up  definitely,  finally.  I  am  going  to  do 
exactly  what  I  want  to  do,  and  it  is  not  in  your 
power  to  stop  me  or  divert  me.  You  may  tell  either 
of  the  Mortons  if  you  like  —  my  real  course  will  not 
be  changed  —  that  will  merely  mean  that  I  '11  do 
what  I  want  to  do  in  some  other  way!" 

Clifford  did  not  attempt  to  answer.  Her  defiant 
words,  her  young  figure  so  rigid  with  its  determined 
spirit  of  worldliness,  had  set  some  strange  force 
working  in  him ;  a  vague  power  seemed  to  be  at  con 
flict  with  the  purpose  he  had  held  to  for  so  long;  a 
strange  revulsion  seized  him,  a  revolution  was  under 
way  which  was  compelling  in  its  sweeping  drive,  but 
whose  intent  and  direction  for  a  moment  he  could 
not  perceive. 

He  stood  still,  and  stared  at  her.  And  then  out  of 
the  inner  turmoil  came  a  clear,  bright  order;  and  then 
he  realized  that  the  restlessness,  the  formless  doubts 
of  the  night  before,  had  been  the  first  faint  stirrings 
of  this  which  was  grown  and  clarified  into  a  new  pur 
pose  and  a  new  vision  —  a  purpose  and  vision  that 

102 


MARY  REGAN 

astonished  him.  For  they  had  come  at  the  very  time 
when  his  old  purpose  was  the  same  as  achieved. 

She  could  but  notice  the  remarkable  change  in  his 
appearance.  "Well,  what  is  it  now?"  she  demanded. 

He  drew  a  deep,  quivering  breath.  A  recklessness, 
a  defiance  —  but  behind  which  his  new  purpose  re 
mained  cool  —  now  possessed  him.  He  was  aware 
that  he  had  to  act  quickly,  for  any  instant  Peter 
Loveman  might  be  here. 

"What  is  it  now?"  he  repeated,  with  a  provoking 
smile.  If  he  did  not  have  power  to  stir  her  to  love, 
he  knew  that  he  had  the  power  to  stir  her  to  anger. 
"I  was  just  recalling  what  you  said  a  moment  ago: 
to  the  effect  that  you  were  going  to  do  what  you 
pleased  and  do  it  when  you  pleased.  Pardon  me  for 
smiling  —  but  when  a  woman  boasts,  it  sometimes 
is  amusing  and  a  bit  absurd." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  said  sharply. 

"Oh,  I'm  smiling  at  myself,  too,  for  I've  just 
realized  what  a  fool  I  've  made  of  myself  in  trying  to 
stop  you  —  an  entirely  unnecessary  effort.  What  I 
mean,  Miss  Regan,  is  that  I  do  not  believe  you  could 
do  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  you'd  go  through  with  your  part 
of  it.  But  if  put  to  the  test  of  marrying  at  once,  Jack 
Morton  would  never  go  through  with  his  part.  He 
may  be  a  bit  infatuated ;  but  he 's  too  wise  to  marry 
a  woman  without  money  —  without  knowing  more 
about  who  she  is  —  and  without  his  father's  ap- 

103 


MARY  REGAN 

proval.  No  wonder  Jack  has  been  putting  this 
off!" 

She  flushed  hotly.  "  I  have  been  the  one  to  put  it 
off!"  she  cried. 

"Indeed,"  he  exclaimed  with  unbelief  none  too 
polite.  "From  the  way  he  was  dancing  last  night 
with  Miss  Cordova  —  you  know,  that  pretty  musi 
cal-comedy  star  —  I  have  an  idea  she 's  had  a  lot 
to  do  with  the  delay.  And  I  imagine  she'll  have  a  lot 
more  to  do  with  further  delay.  Why,  you  poor 
thing,"  —  he  smiled  irritatingly,  —  "to  think  you 
could  hold  a  man  like  Jack  Morton  —  you  having 
to  remain  inactive,  under  cover  —  he  free  to  roam 
about  with  all  sorts  of  charming  women  —  particu 
larly  with  Miss  Cordova!" 

She  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  She  was  choked 
with  that  anger  on  which  he  had  so  carefully  counted : 
no  person,  he  knew,  would  be  so  likely  to  act  upon 
impulse  as  a  proud  and  angered  woman,  before  the 
man  who  has  insulted  her. 

"So  you  think  I  can't  do  it!"  she  exclaimed.  "So 
he's  the  one  who  is  holding  back!  Well,  I'll  just 
show  you!  Anyhow,  this  thing  might  as  well  come 
to  a  head  right  now.  And  I  '11  give  you  your  chance 
to  tell  all  you  know  about  me." 

She  turned  and  took  up  the  telephone  from  the 
writing-desk  and  asked  for  the  Biltmore.  Fortune 
favored  her  purpose,  for  in  a  minute  she  had  Jack 
Morton  on  the  wire. 

"Can  you  come  right  over,  Jack,  —  with  your 
104 


MARY  REGAN 

car?  .  .  .  No,  don't  bring  your  chauffeur;  drive  your 
self.  .  .  .  Why?  I  '11  tell  you  that  when  you  come  — 
only  bring  plenty  of  wraps.  ...  All  right,  I'll  be 
ready;  come  right  up." 

"He'll  be  over  in  fifteen  minutes,"  she  said  to 
Clifford.  "You  may  wait  if  you  like.  But  you'll 
excuse  me." 

She  passed  into  her  bedroom.  Clifford  sank  rather 
limply  into  a  chair.  He  had  come  to  what  just  then 
seemed  the  supreme  crisis  of  his  life,  and  he  was  still 
dazed  at  the  way  he  had  willed  that  crisis  to  eventu 
ate.  He  sat  thinking  —  thinking;  the  minutes  she 
was  out  were  long  minutes  to  him. 

Presently  she  reentered.  She  had  changed  to  a 
black  velvet  suit  trimmed  with  black  fur;  a  small 
fur  hat  sat  snugly  down  upon  her  thick,  dark  hair; 
and  she  carried  a  fur  motor-coat.  She  was  an  un 
forgettable  picture  for  him:  the  high  color  of  her 
dark  face  against  the  background  of  soft  and  sheeny 
blacks. 

She  did  not  address  Clifford;  but  there  was  little 
time  for  their  silence  to  become  awkward,  for  almost 
at  once  the  bell  of  the  suite  rang.  Mary  went  to  the 
door,  and  admitted  Jack  Morton.  The  pleasant- 
faced  young  fellow  looked  most  comfortably  hand 
some  in  his  great  motoring-coat  of  raccoon. 

"I  say,  Mary,  this  is  certainly  fine!"  he  cried, 
after  he  had  kissed  her.  "And,  hello  —  there's  Bob 
Clifford.  How's  the  old  boy?"  He  shook  Clifford's 
hand  warmly.  "But  say,  Mary,  what's  doing?" 

105 


MARY  REGAN 

Mary  looked  at  Morton  when  she  replied,  but  her 
voice  was  directed  at  Clifford:  "I've  decided,  Jack, 
to  give  in  to  you.  I  'm  ready  to  be  married  at  once 
—  to-day." 

"Hurrah!"  cried  young  Morton,  seizing  both  her 
hands.  "But  we'll  have  to  keep  it  quiet  —  same  as 
we  planned.  You're  ready  now?" 

She  did  not  answer.  Clifford  noted  that  her  body 
tautened  and  her  breath  was  held  —  as  one  who 
waits  for  a  blow;  and  he  understood  that  she  was 
waiting  for,  and  expecting  him  to  speak  the  truth 
about  her. 

She  slowly  turned  and  looked  at  Clifford.  Surprise 
that  he  had  said  nothing  was  in  her  face.  Then  she 
turned  back  to  Morton. 

"I'm  all  ready,"  she  said  distinctly,  so  that  Clif 
ford  might  not  miss  a  word.  "We'll  do  as  you  sug 
gested:  motor  away  back  into  the  country  to  some 
small  place  —  get  married  —  and  a  little  money 
spent  judiciously  there  will  keep  our  marriage  quiet 
as  long  as  we  like."  She  turned  again  to  Clifford. 
"I'm  sure  we  have  the  best  wishes  of  Mr.  Clif 
ford." 

He  knew  that  her  words,  and  her  straight  look, 
were  not  now  so  much  challenge  or  defiance  as 
the  bold  offering  him  a  second  time  the  chance  to 
speak,  and  to  speak  at  the  most  effective  moment 
imaginable.  She  might  be  perverse  —  but  of  a 
certainty  she  had  nerve! 

"You  surely  have  my  wishes  that  it  will  all  turn 
106 


MARY  REGAN 

out  for  the  very  best,"  said  Clifford;  and  again  he 
saw  surprise  in  her  gaze. 

He  rode  down  the  elevator  with  them  and  walked 
out  to  the  curb  where  stood  Morton's  machine,  a 
black,  closed  car  with  a  long  hood  that  bespoke  the 
engine-power  of  a  racer.  Morton  was  swinging  open 
the  door  when  Clifford,  trying  to  keep  down  the 
choke  that  sought  to  rise  in  his  throat,  remarked 
with  attempted  good-fellowship :  — 

"If  you  don't  mind,  Morton,  I  wish  you'd  wire 
me  as  soon  as  it's  over.  Here  at  the  Grantham." 

"Sure,  old  man.   Step  in,  Mary." 

Mary  started  to  obey,  then  checked  herself.  "  May 
I  speak  to  you  a  moment,  Mr.  Clifford?" 

They  moved  a  few  paces  away.  She  looked  at  him 
penetratingly. 

"Why  have  you  done  this?"  she  abruptly  whis 
pered. 

"Done  what?"  he  parried. 

"Don't  you  think  that  I  see  now  that  you  have 
forced  my  hand?  That  I  am  down  here  now,  about 
to  do  this,  because  you  wanted  me  to  do  it?  Why 
are  you  doing  it  —  when  you  could  stop  everything, 
this  moment,  with  just  a  few  words?" 

He  gave  her  back  a  straight  look  and  spoke  de 
liberately.  "  I  have  tried  for  a  long  time  to  do  with 
you  what  I  saw  as  best  —  to  pull  the  strings  —  and 
I  have  failed,  over  and  over.  When  you  declared  a 
little  while  ago  that  I  or  nothing  else  could  change 
your  purpose,  I  suddenly  had  a  new  vision.  I  realized 

107 


MARY  REGAN 

that  if  you  were  poor  material  I  could  not  save  you, 
and  that  you  would  not  be  worth  saving.  And  I 
realized  that  if  you  were  good  material,  only  some 
way  that  I  had  not  tried  could  affect  you;  and  it 
came  to  me,"  he  went  on  grimly,  "that  bitter  experi 
ence  might  do  for  you  what  I  had  not  done.  And  it 
also  came  to  me  that  if  anything  could  arouse  you 
to  the  human  realities,  no  experiences  might  be  so 
effective  as  what  might  lie  before  you  in  this  very 
marriage  you  had  planned." 

"And  that  is  why  you  said  nothing?  "  she  breathed. 

He  nodded.  "I  have  taken  my  hands  off,  to  give 
life  its  chance  to  pull  the  strings." 

She  gazed  at  him  a  moment  longer.  Then  she 
returned  to  the  car.  But  as  she  stepped  in,  she 
paused  and  glanced  back  once  more.  Her  face  was 
very  pale  and  dazed  —  it  held  the  look  of  one  who 
wondered,  but  could  not  understand. 

Restlessly,  but  with  a  heavy  heart  within  him, 
Clifford  wandered  about  the  great  lobby  of  the 
Grantham.  A  slow  hour  passed  —  then  another. 
Then  he  saw  Peter  Loveman,  on  his  plump  face  an 
expression  which  for  Loveman  was  very  serious, 
come  up  the  broad  stairway  and  go  straight  for  the 
desk  at  which  visitors  sent  up  their  names  to  guests 
of  the  house.  Loveman  spoke  to  the  blonde  within 
the  grilled  enclosure  —  waited  —  then  walked  away 
with  a  sober,  puzzled  look.  He  sighted  Clifford  in 
a  deep  lounging-chair,  and  his  face  on  the  instant 

108 


MARY  REGAN 

grown  genial,  he  crossed  and  dropped  into  a  chair 
beside  him. 

"Needn't  explain,  Clifford,"  he  said  pleasantly, 
offering  a  cigarette  from  a  lacquered  case  which  Clif 
ford  refused.  "Sure,  I  understand  what  you  showed 
up  here  for:  to  see  if  I  went  through  with  what  I 
promised.  Well,  I  just  asked  for  her,  and  was  told 
she  'd  gone  out.  I  'm  going  to  wait  for  her  —  and  I 
suppose  you'll  wait  too." 

Clifford  nodded. 

Loveman  tried  to  draw  Clifford  into  conversation, 
but  his  light  remarks  failing  to  evoke  a  response,  he 
looked  through  first  the  "Wall  Street  Journal,"  and 
then  the  "Morning  Telegraph,"  that  organ  of  the 
theater  and  the  other  diversions  close  to  Broad 
way's  life.  Thus  the  two  sat  for  over  an  hour,  neither 
speaking;  then  a  page  came  by,  calling  in  the  im 
personal  voice  of  hotel  pages,  "Telegram  Mr.  Clif 
ford—Telegram  Mr.  Clifford." 

Clifford  took  the  yellow  missive  with  a  hand  that 
he  tried  to  keep  from  shaking.  He  was  quite  certain 
what  was  in  it  —  the  end  of  things,  just  as  he  had 
suddenly  planned  them  in  his  new  vision  of  some 
three  or  four  hours  earlier.  Yet,  none  the  less,  he 
had  a  moment  of  supreme  and  sickening  suspense 
as  he  opened  the  envelope. 

Yes,  it  was  just  what  he  had  expected.  He  gazed 
fixedly  at  the  typewritten  lines  before  him  —  lines 
which  were  like  heavy  doors  swinging  to  and  locked 
between  him  and  that  of  which  he  had  dreamed. 

109 


MARY  REGAN 

Then  he  became  conscious  that  the  big  round  eyes  of 
little  Peter  Loveman  were  gazing  at  him  curiously. 
Silently  he  handed  the  telegram  to  the  lawyer. 

Loveman  glanced  the  telegram  through.  "The 
devil!"  he  cried.  Then  he  read  it  again,  this  time 
aloud :  — 

Married  quiet  place  ten  miles  from  here.  Everybody 
will  keep  it  secret  Happy  you  bet. 

J- 

Loveman  stared  at  Clifford.  "And  it's  addressed 
to  you!"  he  exclaimed.  "Say,  this  means  you've 
crossed  yourself!  What  the  devil  are  you  up  to?" 

Clifford  did  not  answer. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  then  Loveman 
whispered  to  himself:  "And  I  just  promised  Nina 
Cordova!" 

Again  Clifford  did  not  answer;  he  did  not  hear 
Loveman.  Such  of  his  senses  as  were  not  numbed 
by  the  finality  of  which  that  telegram  was  the  token 
were  directed  into  that  unfinal  future  which  human 
vision  could  not  penetrate.  How  was  it  airgoing  to 
work  out  for  Mary  Regan?  Was  experience  going  to 
do  for  her  what  he  had  failed  to  do,  or  was  experience 
going  to  stimulate  to  complete  and  final  dominance 
her  worldliness?  And  had  he  played  into  Peter 
Loveman's  hands?  And  what  would  Loveman  do? 

But  these  were  questions  only  Life  could  answer. 
He  had  stepped  aside  to  give  Life  full  play,  to  let 
human  impulses  move  unhindered  by  him  toward 

no 


MARY  REGAN 

their  destiny ;  and  he  must  wait  until  Life  was  ready 
to  speak. 

He  was  subconsciously  aware  that  Loveman's 
round  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  sharply,  and  he  was 
subconsciously  aware  that  the  keen  brain  behind 
that  round  face  was  working  swiftly,  ranging  in  every 
direction.  But  without  looking  at  Loveman  again,  or 
speaking  to  him,  he  rose  heavily  and  went  down  the 
broad  marble  stairway,  muted  with  rugs,  out  into 
the  winter  twilight.  These  questions  that  engaged 
his  mind  were  none  of  his  affair.  Mary  Regan,  as  far 
as  she  touched  his  personal  life,  was  now  become 
an  episode  that  was  closed.  He  had  other  affairs  to 
fill  his  life;  he  must  turn  himself  to  them. 

And  yet,  as  he  walked  away  ...  he  wondered  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  GOLDEN  DOORS 

THE  hour  was  eleven-thirty  of  that  same  night. 
Clifford  sat  in  the  Gold  Room  at  the  Grantham,  and 
kept  a  careful  eye  upon  the  proceedings  across  the 
great  room  at  the  little  corner  table  known  among 
the  waiters  as  "Mr.  Loveman's  table." 

Clifford  watched  many  persons  speak  briefly  to 
Loveman.  He  tried  to  guess  what  the  shrewd  little 
lawyer  might  now  be  up  to.  Among  those  who 
came  to  Loveman's  table  he  particularly  noted  a 
dark,  perfectly  tailored  young  man,  of  perhaps 
thirty,  with  the  lithe  slenderness  of  the  expert 
dancing  male.  Clifford  knew  him  by  name  and 
reputation,  and  already  he  had  set  him  down  as  one 
he  must  watch,  together  with  Loveman  and  Brad 
ley. 

But  for  all  his  efforts  to  concentrate  upon  his 
present  business,  Clifford's  mind  kept  shifting  back 
to  Mary  Regan.  It  was  a  most  difficult  situation 
which  she  had  taken  upon  herself:  the  daughter 
of  one  famous  criminal,  the  niece  of  another,  the 
sister  of  another,  and  herself  a  former  participant 
in  criminal  acts  —  secretly  married  to  a  rich  young 
man  who  knew  nothing  of  her  past,  and  who  was 
dependent  upon  the  approval  of  an  autocratic  fa- 

112 


MARY  REGAN 

ther.  To  succeed  in  the  soaring  worldly  plans  she 
had  admitted  to  him  with  such  cold  frankness  would 
require  marvelous  skill,  marvelous  daring,  marvel 
ous  self-control.  Well  —  skill,  daring,  control,  she 
had  them! 

But  there  was  Loveman  to  be  considered.  Clif 
ford  asked  himself  if  he  had  deduced  aright  Love- 
man's  plans  concerning  her?  Loveman's  words, 
spoken  in  the  early  hours  of  that  morning,  and 
spoken  with  mockery  glinting  through  his  habitual 
amiability  of  manner,  came  back  to  him:  "Just 
supposing  I  do  have  any  little  plan  under  way,  Clif 
ford,  I  wonder  how  close  you've  come  to  guessing 
it?  Now,  I  wonder?" 

Looking  over  at  the  cherubic  face  of  the  shrewd 
little  lawyer,  Clifford  felt  for  the  moment  all  the 
doubt  that  these  words  had  been  intended  to  arouse. 
Had  he,  perhaps,  guessed  only  a  part  of  Loveman's 
plan?  —  or  was  he  altogether  wrong? 

And  Clifford's  restless  mind  flashed  to  his  last  act 
in  the  destiny  of  Mary  Regan:  the  extreme  meas 
ure  he  had  resorted  to  in  taunting  her  into  that 
impulsive  marriage  with  Jack  Morton;  and  then 
his  telling  her  with  almost  brutal  directness,  dur 
ing  the  brief  moment  just  before  she  and  Jack 
had  motored  off,  that  he  had  come  to  realize  that 
only  going  her  own  worldly  way,  only  the  experi 
ence  of  life,  could  avail  to  awaken  the  real  woman 
that  was  in  her. 

He  wondered.    But  only  time,  as  it  unrolled  its 


MARY  REGAN 

film  of  unborn  events,  could  answer  these  questions. 
He  could  now  do  no  more  than  hope  the  best  results 
for  Mary  Regan  — :  wherever  she  might  be. 

With  an  effort  Clifford  brought  himself  back  to 
his  present  business,  and  again  gave  sharp  atten 
tion  to  that  darkly  handsome  figure  of  the  dancing 
man.  And  then  —  his  heart  skipped  a  beat  or  two. 
Across  the  line  of  his  vision,  coming  from  the  main 
entrance  of  the  Gold  Room,  and  convoyed  by  a 
suave  captain  of  waiters,  walked  Mary  Regan  and 
Jack  Morton.  They  were  ushered  to  a  side  table, 
and  at  once  fell  into  intimate  talk. 

Clifford,  after  his  first  surprise,  watched  them 
closely;  and  he  quickly  perceived  that,  though  she 
smiled  and  chatted,  not  more  than  the  surface  of 
Mary's  attention  was  given  to  her  husband  of  a 
dozen  hours.  He  tried  to  look  beneath,  to  what  was 
going  on  in  the  hidden  deeps  of  her  mind.  .  .  . 

That  mind  was  teeming.  For  her  this  was  a  mo 
ment  of  triumph,  of  exultation.  As  she  had  told 
Clifford,  with  her  cool  directness,  she  had  analyzed 
herself,  and  had  decided  that  she  was  a  worldling, 
and,  moreover,  she  knew  herself  a  competent  world 
ling.  The  things  in  life  that  to  her  were  worth  while 
were  luxury,  admiration,  the  pleasures  that  money 
could  buy.  She  had  dreamed  this  dream  —  and 
here  was  her  dream  come  true! 

Her  quickened  eyes,  with  a  new  sense,  swiftly 
took  in  this  great  room,  decorated  in  gold  and  black 
and  with  hangings  of  a  kingly  blue  brocade,  and 

114 


MARY  REGAN 

with  smartly  dressed  people  at  the  tables  or  swing 
ing  in  alluring  rhythm  in  the  latest  dances.  After 
the  studied  maneuvers,  and  sometimes  necessary 
seclusion  of  life  with  her  uncle,  all  this  gayety,  and 
richness,  and  freedom,  warmed  the  heart  of  her  de 
sire.  All  this  was  now  hers!  —  hers  whenever  she 
wished  it! 

It  was  as  if  golden  doors  had  swung  open.  From 
her  subconscious  mind  these  two  magic  words  had 
emerged  to  the  very  forefront  of  her  thought,  had 
become  a  mental  figure  of  speech  which  she  con 
cretely  visualized  as  a  glorious  structure  which  al 
most  existed  —  Golden  Doors !  .  .  . 

Clifford,  watching  that  rapt  face,  hardly  noted 
that  Jack  had  sighted  him  and  was  bearing  down 
upon  him  until  Jack  seized  him  by  the  shoulder  and 
dragged  him  over  to  where  Mary  sat. 

"Look  who's  here,  Mary,  —  almost  my  brides 
maid!"  Jack  cried  gayly.  "Sit  down,  Clifford," 
pressing  Clifford  into  a  chair  and  reseating  himself. 
"Now,  come  across  with  congratulations!" 

Clifford  tried  to  restrain  all  personal  feeling  from 
his  tone,  and  to  speak  lightly.  "I  can't  do  better 
than  to  say  what's  always  said  —  that  I  hope  mar 
riage  is  going  to  make  a  real  man  out  of  you." 

"Oh,  you  do!  And  I  suppose"  —  with  joyous 
acerbity  —  "that  that's  what  you're  wishing  for 
Mary  —  that  it'll  make  a  real  woman  out  of  her!" 

Clifford  still  tried  to  speak  easily.  "Honestly, 
now,  could  one  make  a  better  wish  for  a  woman 

"5 


MARY  REGAN 

than  that  she  should  never  be  anybody  else  but  her 
best  self?" 

Mary  met  his  gaze  steadily.  On  his  side  he  tried 
to  look,  and  feel,  the  part  of  one  who  is  no  more  than 
a  casual  friend  —  but,  despite  his  effort  at  this  de 
tached  r61e,  he  could  not  help  guessing  at  just  what 
was  going  on  behind  that  calm  face. 

"You've  got  a  thought  on  your  chest,"  remarked 
Jack.  "Better  cough  it  up." 

"  I  am  merely  feeling  a  bit  surprised  at  seeing  you 
back  again." 

"Surprised?  Why?" 

"I  imagined  you'd  stay  away  for  a  while." 

" I've  had  enough  of  the  St.  Helena  life  —  and  so 
has  Mary.  New  York's  the  only  place!" 

"Where  are  you  going  to  live?" 

"Right  here  at  the  Grantham.  That  is,  till  we 
like  something  better." 

"Then  you  are  registered  here?"  pursued  Clifford. 

"Not  I.  Mary  is,  since  she's  been  living  here.  I 
was  just  going  to  have  my  things  sent  over  from  the 
Biltmore,  and  then  register  with  the  special  hotel 
pen,  which  has  two  ink  drops  that  flow  as  one." 

Clifford  was  silent  for  a  moment.  He  had  noted 
that  Peter  Loveman  was  watching  them  from  his 
corner,  and  that  the  lithe,  dark  gentleman  he  had 
been  closely  observing  during  the  evening  —  his 
name  was  Hilton  —  was  now  seated  at  the  table 
adjoining  them  and  was  covertly  watching  Mary. 

"Don't  register  here  together,"  he  said  abruptly. 
116 


MARY  REGAN 

"  Why  not?"  exclaimed  Jack. 

"Would  you  mind  explaining?"  Mary  asked 
quietly. 

Clifford  remembered  himself.  Only  that  very 
morning  he  had  told  Mary  that  he  would  no  longer 
try  to  help  shape  the  course  of  her  life  —  that  he 
would  keep  his  hands  off  —  that  hereafter  he  would 
let  Life  pull  the  strings  of  her  destiny.  And  here  he 
was  interfering  again. 

"I  guess  I  wasn't  thinking,"  he  said,  trying  to 
be  casual.  "Anyhow,  it's  really  none  of  my  busi 
ness." 

Mary  gazed  at  him  sharply.  She  surmised  that 
some  idea  had  been  behind  his  remark;  but  she  did 
not  speak.  Jack,  whose  gaze  had  wandered,  gave 
a  start  and  cried  out:  • — 

"Hello,  there 's dad !  And  he 's  spotted  us  —  look, 
he's  coming  this  way!" 

Clifford  glanced  at  Jack's  father,  an  erect  man  of 
fifty,  with  unchallengeable  dominance  in  his  man 
ner  which  the  lordship  of  large  affairs  had  developed 
from  his  native  self-confidence.  Then  quickly  Clif 
ford  glanced  back,  and  managed  to  comprehend  with 
his  gaze  both  Mary  and  the  dark  man  at  the  next 
table.  Mary,  grown  tense  as  crisis  approached  in 
the  form  of  the  elder  Morton,  said  quickly  to  Jack 
in  a  low  voice:  — 

"Introduce  me  by  another  name:  Gilmore  — 
anything!" 

At  the  same  moment  Clifford  saw  her  hands  be- 
117 


MARY  REGAN 

neath  the  table  swiftly  remove  engagement  and 
wedding  rings  and  thrust  them  into  a  white  glove 
which  lay  in  her  lap.  Also  he  noted  that  the  dark 
gentleman  had  caught  this  action ;  and  he  noted  that 
the  black  eyes  glinted  with  a  sudden  light. 

The  next  moment  he  heard  Mary  being  intro 
duced  as  Miss  Gilmore.  Clifford  watched  the  meet 
ing  keenly. 

"  I  'm  very  glad  to  meet  Miss  Gilmore,"  the  elder 
Morton  said,  bowing  over  her  hand  and  taking  her 
in  with  a  swift,  appraising  eye.  He  had  a  reputa 
tion  of  a  sort  as  a  connoisseur  of  femininity,  and 
what  he  saw  was  evidently  pleasing  to  him. 

"And  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,"  Mary  returned. 

Clifford  knew  her  self-control,  but  he  was  freshly 
amazed  at  the  composed  agreeability  with  which 
she  met  her  unsuspecting  father-in-law. 

"Of  course,  you  know  Mr.  Clifford,"  Jack  went 
on  nervously.  "Sit  down,  dad.  We  were  just  fin 
ishing  a  little  supper.  Can't  I  order  something  for 
you?" 

"Nothing  for  me,  son.  But  I'll  sit  with  Miss 
Gilmore  and  you  for  a  minute." 

He  took  a  chair,  and  fixed  his  gray  eyes,  trained 
to  penetrate  and  read  what  others  would  hide  from 
him,  upon  Mary.  Clifford  tautened  with  suspense 
as  these  two  sat  face  to  face.  And  out  of  the  tail 
of  his  eye  he  saw  that  the  dark  man  was  covertly 
watching  and  listening. 

"I  don't  get  to  New  York  very  often,  Miss  Gil- 
118 


MARY  REGAN 

more,"  Mr.  Morton  continued,  "but  this  time  I'm 
making  it  an  old  man's  business  and  pleasure  to  try 
to  recapture  some  of  my  own  youth  by  getting  ac 
quainted  with  Jack's  friends.  I  suppose  he 's  known 
you  a  long  time?" 

"On  the  other  hand,  we  first  met  quite  recently." 

"If  I  knew  how  to  be  gallant  in  your  Eastern 
fashion,  I  might  remark  that  Jack  has  lost  a  lot, 
then.  I  wonder  if  you're  one  of  our  leading  act 
resses?  Jack  seems  to  know  so  many  stage  people." 

"I'm  not  even  the  greatest  motion-picture  star 
yet  discovered;  and  you  know  there  are  thousands 
of  her.  I  'm  just  ordinary  woman." 

"Not  ordinary!"  protested  Mr.  Morton.  "I  sup 
pose  —  But,  of  course,  this  curiosity  of  a  provin 
cial  must  be  offensive  to  you?" 

"  I  did  not  know  that  a  Chicagoan  ever  admitted 
himself  a  provincial." 

"Call  it  the  prying  curiosity  of  an  old  father. 
That's  just  as  bad." 

"A  father  should  be  curious,"  Mary  said  evenly. 

"I  was  about  to  say  that  I  suppose  you  are  a 
native  New  Yorker?" 

"Not  in  the  sense  that  you  probably  mean  —  that 
I  am  of  an  old  family  here,  and  have  a  lot  of  rela 
tions." 

"But  you  are  a  New  Yorker?" 

"I  was  born  here.  But  a  large  part  of  my  life 
I  spent  in  France  —  where,"  she  added,  "both  my 
parents  died." 

119 


MARY  REGAN 

"An  orphan  —  and  no  relations!  Perhaps  you 
are  one  of  those  independent  New  York  bachelor 
girls  we  read  about  ?  " 

"I  live  with  an  aunt.  We  have  an  apartment  — 
just  a  little  box  of  a  thing." 

"Indeed.  Would  it  be  presuming  too  much  on 
Jack's  friendship  if  I  might  call  upon  you  and  your 
aunt?" 

"Aunt  Isabel  and  I  will  be  pleased  to  have  you," 
she  returned  evenly. 

"Thank  you.  If  you  will  find  out  just  when  it 
will  be  most  convenient  for  her,  and  let  me  know 
through  Jack,  I'll  be  there." 

Clifford  had  to  admire  the  composure  with  which 
she  carried  herself  through  this  polite  but  danger 
ous  inquisition  —  every  instant  of  which,  he  saw, 
was  an  almost  unbearable  strain  upon  the  suspense- 
ridden  Jack.  But  by  her  invention  of  an  aunt, 
which  had  opened  the  way  for  a  proposal  to  call,  he 
felt  that  she  might  have  made  a  fatal  slip.  But 
there  was  no  telling:  it  looked  bad,  yes,  —  but  she 
had  a  faculty,  a  gift,  for  smoothly  extricating  her 
self  from  the  worst  of  situations. 

Before  this  cross-examination  could  proceed  fur 
ther,  little  Peter  Loveman  appeared  at  the  table. 
Clifford  instantly  surmised  the  shrewd  little  lawyer's 
motive:  he  had  witnessed  the  scene,  and,  knowing  its 
dangers  to  himself,  sought  to  intervene  before  there 
could  be  exposure  and  explosion. 

"Pardon  me  for  breaking  in  on  your  party,  Mr. 
120 


MARY  REGAN 

Morton,"  he  said,  with  his  glib  amiability.  "But 
some  facts  just  came  to  my  knowledge  which,  as 
your  lawyer,  I  feel  you  ought  to  know  at  once." 

"All  right;  I  was  just  leaving,  anyhow.  Jack, 
I  Ve  been  wanting  to  see  you  all  day  —  it 's  really 
very  important.  I  wonder  if  Miss  Gilmore  would 
forgive  you,  and  us,  if  we  left  her  with  Mr.  Clif 
ford?" 

It  had  been  a  scene  that  had  almost  crumpled 
Jack.  Mary  saved  the  situation  for  him  by  speak 
ing  promptly  but  with  composure. 

"It  will  be  quite  all  right,  Mr.  Morton." 

"To  pay  the  check  with,"  Jack  mumbled  huskily, 
pushing  a  bank-note  beside  Clifford's  plate. 

The  next  moment  Clifford  and  Mary  were  alone. 
She  gazed  across  at  him  very  steadily,  not  speaking. 
Her  breath  came  with  a  slight,  fluttering  irregu 
larity,  and  her  face  had  taken  on  a  slight  pallor;  he 
could  guess  how  much  the  stress  of  the  last  few 
minutes  had  taxed  her.  She  glanced  about  the  tables 
for  a  brief  space,  then  her  eyes  came  back  to  him. 

"I'd  like  to  go  up  to  my  apartment,"  she  said 
quietly. 

Clifford  paid  the  bill  and  escorted  her  out  of  the 
great,  glittering  room.  Near  the  row  of  elevators 
she  halted  and  faced  him. 

"What  was  in  your  mind  a  while  ago  when  you 
started  to  tell  Jack  and  me  not  to  register  here 
together?" 

He  tried  to  speak  coldly.  "Please  overlook  that. 
121 


MARY  REGAN 

I  forgot  for  the  moment  that  I  had  promised  you 
I  would  not  again  interfere  in  your  affairs." 

"Please  tell  me  what  was  in  your  mind,"  she 
quietly  insisted. 

"First  of  all,  I  was  surprised  that  you  and  Jack 
should  return  to  New  York  —  so  soon." 

"Why?" 

"Something  similar  to  what  has  just  happened 
was  bound  to  happen  if  you  appeared  in  New  York 
openly  together  —  only  it  might  have  been  a  great 
deal  worse.  And  that  worse  thing  would  inevitably 
have  happened  if  you  two  had  registered.  I  thought 
you  would  have  considered  this  danger." 

"  I  had  thought  of  it,  yes,  —  that  is,  before  to-day. 
But  to-day  so  much  was  happening  to  me  —  it  was 
all  so  sudden  —  that  all  day  I  was  thinking  of  other 
things." 

He  looked  at  her  sharply,  a  sudden  leaping  at  his 
heart.  Was  he  in  any  way  concerned  in  those  other 
things?  But  he  put  the  question  from  him. 

Abruptly  he  obeyed  an  impulse  that  had  been 
growing  in  him.  "May  I  break  my  promise  to  the 
extent  of  telling  you  of  a  few  matters?" 

"Please  do." 

"You  have  chosen  your  own  way,"  he  said,  in 
even  tones,  looking  very  straight  into  her  dark 
eyes,  "but  —  well,  after  all,  I  want  you  to  make  the 
best  of  it  for  yourself.  These  few  facts  —  perhaps 
you  know  them  already  —  may  help  you.  First,  and 
I  say  this  without  any  personal  prejudice  to  Jack, 

122 


MARY  REGAN 

Jack  has  the  reputation  of  caring  for  many  women 
often  rather  than  for  one  woman  long.  Second, 
largely  for  business  reasons,  Mr.  Morton  desires  to 
have  Jack  marry  a  girl  from  Chicago.  Third,  this 
girl's  parents  will  not  consider  such  a  marriage 
until  Jack  has  proved  that  he  has  settled  down; 
therefore,  it  naturally  is  Mr.  Morton's  dominating 
desire  at  present  that  Jack  should  become  a  steady 
business  man.  He'd  like  to  have  Jack  enter  the 
New  York  offices  of  his  firm.  That  is  all.  If  you 
think  these  matters  over,  perhaps  you  will  see  a 
way  in  which  they  may  serve  you." 

"Perhaps  I  shall.  Thank  you."  She  moved  ta 
the  elevators,  and  stood  silent  until  a  car  opened. 
"Good-night,"  she  said,  and  stepped  inside. 

"Good-night,"  he  returned. 

He  stood  an  instant  a.ter  her  car  had  shot  up 
ward.  She  had  chosen  her  own  course.  And  this 
was  only  the  beginning  of  the  consequences.  What 
might  the  ending  be? 


CHAPTER  XI 

MARY    PLANS   ANEW 

THE  following  morning  Clifford  called  at  the  Gran- 
tham  and  asked  if  Mrs.  Morton  was  in. 

The  clerk  examined  the  hotel's  file  of  guests. 
"There  is  no  Mrs.  Morton  staying  here." 

So,  after  all,  they  had  not  registered.  He  recalled 
that  Mary  had  formerly  been  known  here  as  Mrs. 
Gardner. 

"May  I  see  Mrs.  Gardner,  then?"  he  asked. 

"Mrs.  Gardner  moved  from  the  Grantham  early 
this  morning,"  replied  the  clerk.  "I'd  just  come  on 
duty  when  she  left." 

"Was  there  a  —  was  her  brother  with  her?" 

"She  was  alone." 

"If  you  will  kindly  give  me  her  new  address — " 

"She  left  no  address." 

Clifford  walked  out  of  the  Grantham  in  deep 
thought.  Mary  had  realized  her  situation,  she  had 
acted  promptly.  But  what  was  her  plan?  —  for  un 
doubtedly  she  had  evolved  a  plan  during  the  night. 
And  where  had  she  gone? 

And  how  was  it  all  going  to  work  out?  To  be 
sure,  the  penetration  of  the  designs  of  Loveman 
and  Bradley  was  his  real  business;  but  he  could 
not  help  himself,  he  was  vastly  more  interested  in 

124 


MARY  REGAN 

what  Mary  might  be  doing,  and  in  what  was  to  be 
the  end  of  it  all  for  her.  He  called  on  Slant-Face; 
but  her  brother  still  had  not  seen  or  heard  from 
her  directly  since  her  return  to  New  York.  He  kept 
Loveman  under  surveillance,  and  also  Bradley;  the 
maneuvers  of  either  might  lead  him  to  her.  And 
also  he  kept  watch  upon  Hilton,  whose  eyes  had 
suddenly  lighted  when  he  had  seen  Mary  quickly 
thrust  her  rings  into  her  gloves.  But  he  picked  up 
nothing. 

Clifford  might  have  been  greatly  helped  in  his 
search  for  Mary  by  Commissioner  Thorne:  a  gen 
eral  alarm  might  quickly  have  located  her.  But  he 
did  not  want  Mary  brought  before  the  general  at 
tention  of  the -police.  However  questionable  the 
ethics  of  the  course  her  ambition  had  planned,  there 
was  in  it  nothing  that  was  legally  criminal. 

For  a  week  he  kept  close  surveillance  upon  Love 
man,  Bradley,  and  the  dark  young  man;  and  learned 
not  a  thing  about  Mary  and  not  a  thing  about  the 
plans  of  the  others.  Then  one  day  he  ran  across  the 
elder  Morton,  who  had  just  returned  to  the  city 
after  a  trip  to  Chicago. 

"You  won't  believe  it  when  I  tell  you,"  said  the 
older  man,  "but  Jack's  gone  to  work." 

"Where?" 

"In  my  New  York  offices.  Been  working  there 
a  week  —  and  they  tell  me  he 's  been  as  regular  as 
a  clock.  Remarkable  change!"  His  voice  lowered. 
"But  here's  a  point  that  seems  odd:  though  he's 

125 


MARY  REGAN 

kept  his  rooms  at  the  Biltmore,  the  people  there 
have  hardly  seen  him." 

The  finding  of  Mary  now  seemed  simple  enough. 
But  Clifford  realized  that  mere  knowledge  of  her 
whereabouts  would  not  satisfy  him.  Clifford  con 
sidered  rapidly  how  he  might  achieve  a  private 
meeting  with  her.  Half  an  hour  later  he  was  sit 
ting  with  Uncle  George  in  Monsieur  Le  Bain's 
Grand  Alcazar,  and  was  telling  this  wise  old  man 
of  Broadway  all  that  had  happened. 

"  Certainly  some  little  situation  for  Mary  Regan ! " 
Uncle  George  looked  at  Clifford  with  his  shrewd 
old  lashless  eyes.  "But,  son,  I  hope  your  motor's 
not  missing  fire  over  her  —  and  her  a  married 
woman?" 

"  I  'm  concerned  because  I  'm  certain  Loveman  is 
planning  to  use  her.  I  can  protect  her  better,  and 
I  stand  a  better  chance  to  land  Loveman,  if  I  know 
where  she  is." 

"H'm.  And  is  that  the  three-mile  limit  of  your 
interest?" 

"  I  'm  human  enough  to  want  to  know  what  she's 
done  and  how  she's  planned  to  meet  the  future. 
Knowing  that  will  help  me  against  Loveman." 

"Well,  son,  be  sure  you're  not  passing  phony 
money  off  on  yourself  —  which  is  what  the  average 
citizen  does  when  he  thinks  he  has  one  of  these  here 
righteous  thoughts.  I  suppose  you  Ve  got  me  fitted 
into  some  nice  little  idea?" 

"You're  going  to  help  me  meet  her." 
126 


MARY  REGAN 

"Oh,  that's  all,  is  it!"  the  old  man  said  dryly. 
"All  I've  got  to  do  is  to  step  out  on  Broadway, 
touch  her  on  the  sleeve,  and  say,  '  Good-afternoon r 
Mary;  Bob  Clifford  wants  to  one-step  with  you  to 
a  bit  of  nice  chin-music '  —  and  in  she  '11  come  wear 
ing  a  smile  on  all  four  sides,  you  being  so  popular 
with  her!" 

"All  you've  got  to  do,  Uncle  George,  is  some 
thing  else.  Jack  likes  you ;  Mary  considers  you  one 
of  her  best  friends.  You  go  into  that  telephone 
booth,  call  up  Jack  at  his  father's  office,  and  learn 
where  she  is  —  and  after  you  Ve  learned  that  we  '11 
dope  out  the  rest." 

"  I  did  n't  think  that  in  my  old  age  I  'd  sink  to  be 
a  stool  for  a  copper,"  sighed  Uncle  George,  with 
mock  mournfulness. 

He  heaved  his  big  body  up  and  crossed  to  a  booth. 
Five  minutes  later  he  swayed  back  to  Clifford's 
side. 

"I  got  a  line  on  her.  But  it's  up  to  me  to  do 
some  of  this  here  super-delicate  detective  work.  Sit 
where  you  are  —  though  it 's  an  awful  risk  to  leave 
you  alone  and  unprotected  right  over  a  wine  cellar. 
I  may  be  back  in  an  hour.  So-long." 

He  was  back  in  half  an  hour.  "She's  having  tea 
over  at  the  Ritz.  Come  on.  I  got  a  taxi  waiting 
outside." 

He  led  the  way  out  and  across  the  sidewalk,  bulk 
ing  large  before  Clifford.  "May  God  pity  an  old 
sinner  for  what '11  be  comin'  to  him  for  this!"  he 

127 


MARY  REGAN 

murmured.  At  the  door  of  the  taxi  he  stepped 
aside.  "Get  in  first,"  he  said  to  Clifford;  and,  as 
Clifford  obeyed,  he  smartly  closed  the  door  on  Clif 
ford's  back.  "All  right,"  he  called  to  the  chauffeur. 

As  the  taxi  moved  away,  a  startled  voice  within 
the  car  exclaimed:  "You!" 

Clifford  then  saw  that  he  was  sitting  beside  Mary. 
"Miss  Regan!"  he  ejaculated,  forgetting  her  new 
name. 

"Uncle  George  told  me  we  were  to  pick  up 
Jack." 

"  I  hope  you  '11  forgive  the  deception.  Don't  blame 
Uncle  George.  Blame  me." 

"What  does  this  mean?"  she  demanded. 

"  I  felt  I  had  to  see  you  at  once." 

"Why?" 

"You  see,  I  could  hardly  help  wanting  to  know 
what  you  had  done." 

He  had  thought  it  more  than  likely  that  she  would 
be  angry.  Her  dark  eyes  did  flash  at  him;  but  when 
she  spoke  she  spoke  very  calmly. 

"There's  no  reason  why  you  should  not  know; 
and  I  have  no  objections  to  telling  you  everything. 
What  do  you  wish  to  know  first?" 

"What  you  did  first." 

She  considered,  then  spoke  with  a  cold  frankness 
that  was  in  keeping  with  her  recent  attitude  toward 
him  —  to  show  him  her  calculating  worldliness, 
stark,  unexcused. 

"I  thought  I  had  passed  through  the  Golden 
128 


MARY  REGAN 

Doors,  —  that 's  a  phrase  of  mine,  —  but  after  that 
night  at  the  Grantham  when  I  saw  you,  I  realized 
that  I  still  stood  far  without  them.  I  saw  that  I 
had  either  to  vanish  —  or  be  willing  to  wait  my 
time,  perhaps  a  long  time,  if  I  would  see  it  through. 
I  decided  on  the  latter." 

"Yes,"  Clifford  prompted. 

"That  meant,"  the  unsparing  voice  went  on, 
"that  for  a  long  time  Jack  and  I  would  hardly  dare 
be  seen  openly  together,  that  we  had  to  live  in  se 
clusion.  I  made  Jack  see  things  as  I  saw  them,  so  we 
sublet  an  apartment  on  Riverside  Drive,  and  we're 
known  there  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson." 

"And  what  about  Jack's  going  to  work?" 

"I  thought  that  if  through  my  influence  Jack 
should  settle  down,  it  would  help  when  his  father 
finds  out." 

"I  see." 

"I  realize  perfectly,"  the  cold  voice  continued, 
"another  problem  that  I  have  to  face.  Jack  likes  gay 
company;  further,  you  said  it  is  not  his  nature  to 
care  for  one  woman  long.  Well,  I  must  make  Jack 
like  me  for  a  long  time,  and  make  him  like  me  de 
spite  the  solitude.  I  shall  do  it."  She  paused,  then 
added:  "I  believe  that  is  everything." 

They  rode  on  in  silence,  Clifford  covertly  eyeing 
the  erect,  contained  figure  beside  him  —  guessing  at 
what  it  must  have  cost  her  to  give  up  her  dreamed- 
of  pleasure,  to  be  forced  into  seclusion,  to  be  forced 
to  undertake  the  responsibility  of  sobering  down  a 

129 


MARY  REGAN 

joyous  spendthrift.   Life  certainly  had  not  given  her 
what  she  had  expected  in  her  bargain. 

Again  the  question  rose:  how  was  it  all  coming 
out? 

The  next  afternoon  Clifford,  following  Hilton, 
saw  his  quarry  enter  the  Mordona,  the  great  apart 
ment  house  on  the  Drive  before  which  he  had  left 
Mary  the  night  before.  He  followed  into  the  lobby 
just  as  his  man  disappeared  into  an  elevator.  He  had 
no  doubt  on  whom  the  dark  gentleman  was  calling, 
or  for  what  reason  he  called. 

Opening  into  the  elaborate  lobby,  for  whose 
gilded  ostentation  the  tenants  were  assessed  a  goodly 
portion  of  their  rent,  was  a  florist's  shop.  Into  the 
comparative  privacy  of  this  Clifford  stepped  to  wait 
until  his  man  came  down:  a  move  that  was  just  in 
time,  for  from  a  descended  elevator,  which  must 
have  passed  the  one  bearing  Hilton  aloft,  stepped 
the  square,  solid  figure  of  Bradley.  Again  Clifford 
had  no  doubt  on  whom  the  call  had  been  made,  or 
why. 

At  last  he  had  picked  up  a  warm  and  very  busy 
trail.  Under  pretense  of  an  indecision  over  the  flow 
ers  he  should  purchase,  he  waited  for  his  man  to 
come  down,  trying  to  reproduce  the  scene  that  was 
now  going  on  in  the  "Graysons"'  apartment,  and 
the  scene  prior  to  it  in  which  Bradley  had  figured.  A 
quarter  of  an  hour  passed,  then  the  debonair  Hilton 
emerged  from  an  elevator  and  strode  out  with  a 
jaunty,  smiling  air. 

130 


MARY  REGAN 

The  next  moment  Clifford  was  in  an  elevator, 
shooting  upward,  and  two  minutes  later  Mary's 
maid  was  bearing  his  card  through  a  curtained  door 
way.  He  caught  Mary's  voice  sounding  as  though 
it  were  two  rooms  away,  finishing  what  was  obvi 
ously  a  telephone  conversation:  "You'll  come  as 
soon  as  you  can  get  here?  That's  most  kind  of  you. 
Good-bye." 

There  was  a  delay;  he  guessed  that  Mary  was  sur 
prised  at  this  third  successive  call ;  then  he  was  shown 
through  the  curtained  doorway  into  the  drawing- 
room.  His  swift  impression  of  the  room  was  that  it 
was  large  for  a  New  York  apartment,  and  that  its 
prodigal  furnishings  bespoke  wealth  rather  than  taste 
on  the  part  of  its  absent  lessee.  The  next  moment 
Mary  came  in  through  a  door  which  he  judged  led 
from  the  library.  There  was  now  in  her  bearing 
nothing  of  the  cold  frankness  which  she  had  shown 
him  the  day  before.  She  was  taut  with  controlled  ex 
citement,  which  he  knew  to  be  the  product  of  the 
so  recent  interviews.  Her  manner  was  challenging. 

"What  do  you  want?"  . ., 

He  tried  to  speak  in  a  steady,  impersonal  tone. 
"Mr.  Bradley  was  here  a  few  minutes  ago.  I'd  be 
obliged  if  you'd  tell  me  what  he  came  for." 

"Pardon  me  for  not  obliging  you  —  but  that  is 
my  own  affair.  Is  this  all?" 

"Another  gentleman  just  called  on  you.  Would 
you  tell  me  what  he  wanted?" 

"That  also  is  my  own  affair." 


MARY  REGAN 

"  It  might  help  me  greatly  if  I  knew  exactly  what 
he  asked  for,"  Clifford  urged. 

"Perhaps.    But  that  cannot  concern  me." 

"Then  you  wilLnot  tell?" 

"No." 

"Are  you  aware  who  this  man  is?" 

"He's  a  friend  of  Jack's." 

"Not  much  of  a  friend,  I  hope."  Clifford  still 
spoke  in  his  steady,  impersonal  tone.  "  Mr.  Hilton  is 
one  of  several  men  that  I  am  after  —  and  he 's  one 
of  the  cleverest  and  most  dangerous  of  the  lot.  It  is 
the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  for  a  crook  who  is  well- 
dressed,  well-mannered,  and  who  can  dance,  to  make 
acquaintances  wherever  he  likes.  The  regular  game 
of  these  crooks  is  to  pick  out  a  woman  with  money, 
or  who  can  get  money,  make  her  acquaintance,  gain 
her  confidence  and  some  of  her  secrets,  and  then  lead 
her  into  a  situation  where  she  must  pay  or  be  ex 
posed.  This  is  your  last  visitor's  special  line.  You 
might  help  me  a  lot  if  you  would  tell  me  what  Mr. 
Hilton  wanted  from  you." 

>    "He  came  to  see  me  about  a  personal  matter  of 
no  importance,"  she  replied. 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  do  not  believe  you,"  he  said. 

She  made  no  response. 

"You  will  not  tell?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  tell,"  was  her  steady  answer. 

"I  might  force  you  to  tell  — "he  snapped  at  her, 
but  instantly  cut  himself  off. 

"Since  you  won't  tell  me,"  he  said,  stepping  more 
132 


MARY  REGAN 

squarely  before  her,  "then  I'll  tell  you.  Bradley 
came  here  to  blackmail  you ;  blackmail  is  one  of  Brad- 
ley's  big  side-lines  just  now.  Hilton  was  a  follow- 
up  man  on  the  same  business.  If  he  was  n't  in  this 
particular  game  before,  he  got  next  the  other  night 
at  the  Grantham.  He  saw  you  slip  off  your  rings  and 
hide  them  when  Jack's  father  was  coming  to  your 
table.  He  guessed  what  that  action  meant,  and  it 
was  easy  for  him  to  dig  up  the  rest." 

Clifford  paused.  "I'm  right  so  far,  yes?"  he  de 
manded. 

But  she  did  not  speak. 

"And  I  can  tell  you  just  what  he  said,"  Clifford 
continued,  "and  how  he  said  it  —  for  he's  a  most 
gentle-spoken  party.  It  would  cause  him  very  great 
regret  to  have  to  tell  Mr.  Morton  that  his  son  had 
contracted  a  secret  marriage,  and  it  would  cause 
him  even  greater  regret  to  have  to  tell  both  the  Mor 
tons  just  who  Mary  Regan  has  been  and  just  who 
are  the  members  of  her  family.  The  only  way  he  can 
be  saved  from  inflicting  upon  himself  this  regret  is 
for  you  to  come  across  with  a  large  sum  of  money. 
Well,  is  n't  that  about  it?  Now  will  you  help  me 
out?" 

"  I  can  say  no  more  than  I  have  said,"  she  replied. 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  get  him  alone,"  Clifford 
said,  with  grim  quiet.  "Him  and  the  others." 

He  left  her  with  no  further  word.  On  the  way 
down  in  the  elevator  he  recalled  the  fragment  he 
had  heard  over  the  telephone;  and  again  he  stepped 

133 


MARY  REGAN 

into  the  convenient  privacy  of  the  florist's  shop. 
Not  more  than  two  minutes  had  passed  when  he 
saw  Peter  Loveman  enter  one  of  the  elevators.  So  it 
was  Loveman  she  had  been  telephoning  to.  She  had 
doubtless  sent  for  the  little  lawyer  to  ask  his  advice 
—  the  irony  of  it ! 

Clifford  waited  for  Loveman  to  descend.  Fifteen 
minutes  passed  —  it  was  now  getting  on  toward  six ; 
then  into  the  lobby,  walking  eagerly,  came  Jack 
Morton.  And  then  in  the  entrance,  watching  but 
discreetly  unobtrusive,  appeared  Jack's  father. 
Jack's  elevator  had  made  its  trip  up  and  had  just 
descended,  when  the  elder  Morton  crossed  the  lobby 
and  addressed  the  elevator-man.  The  florist's  door 
stood  open,  so  Clifford  heard  every  word. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Morton,  "what  is  the 
name  of  the  gentleman,  your  only  passenger,  that  you 
just  took  up?  I  thought  I  recognized  him  as  an  ac* 
quaintance." 

"Mr.  Grayson,  sir." 

"He  lives  here?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  suppose  he  has  one  of  your  bachelor  apart 
ments?" 

"No,  sir.  He  lives  here  with  Mrs.  Grayson." 

"To  be  sure.  I  did  n't  know  Mrs.  Grayson's  health 
had  permitted  her  to  come  back  from  California. 
Please  don't  mention  my  having  been  here;  they 
might  feel  hurt  at  my  not  having  come  up." 

He  slipped  the  man  a  bill  and  went  out.   Clifford 

134 


MARY  REGAN 

realized  that  Mr.  Morton  had  been  engaged  upon  a 
bit  of  private  sleuthing  on  his  own  account:  which 
might  lead  to  —  what? 

Clifford  thought  a  moment.  Then  he  sought  out 
the  superintendent  of  the  building,  and  after  some 
very  confidential  talk,  and  a  showing  of  credentials, 
which  the  superintendent  verified  by  calling  up  Po 
lice  Headquarters,  he  departed,  bearing  with  him  a 
pass-key  to  all  the  apartments  of  the  Mordona. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  GENTLEMAN  OF   PLEASURE 

THERE  were  at  least  four  persons  that  Clifford  knew 
it  was  desirable  to  keep  under  surveillance  —  Brad 
ley,  Peter  Loveman,  Mr.  Morton,  and  Hilton;  but 
the  professional  ladies'  man  he  regarded  as  the  best 
clue  to  the  immediate  situation.  "Yes,  you  stick 
to  Hilton,"  Uncle  George  agreed  decisively  that 
evening  at  dinner.  "When  it  conies  to  twisting 
women,  that  dear  limber  guy  is  a  better  committee 
on  ways  and  means  than  any  charmer  that  ever 
adorned  himself  in  a  smile,  pumps,  and  a  dress 
suit."  •-. 

That  night  Clifford  trailed  Hilton  from  restaurant 
to  theater,  and  then  to  three  of  the  smartest  hotel 
ballrooms,  and  then,  toward  three  in  the  morning, 
saw  him  to  his  hotel.  He  picked  Hilton  up  at  noon 
the  next  morning;  lunched  (it  was  Hilton's  break 
fast)  at  a  table  near  him  at  the  Ritz  Carlton;  fol 
lowed  him  to  a  few  restaurants  where  afternoon 
dancing  was  under  way;  and  at  exactly  half-past 
five  he  followed  him  into  the  Mordona. 

He  gave  Hilton  a  minute's  start,  then  rode  up 
to  the  "Graysons"'  apartment.  Hilton  had  evi 
dently  been  admitted,  for  the  corridor  was  empty. 
Muffling  the  lock  with  a  handkerchief,  Clifford  slipped 

136 


MARY  REGAN 

in  the  pass-key,  and  swiftly,  but  with  velvet  cau 
tion,  he  opened  the  door.  Inside,  he  closed  the  door 
with  as  great  care,  and  stood,  unbreathing,  listen 
ing  kitchenward  for  the  maid  —  fingers  on  lips  and 
a  bill  held  out  to  check  immediately  any  words 
should  that  young  lady  appear:  a  needless  stratagem, 
since  Mary  had  given  her  maid  that  afternoon  out. 
Hearing  nothing,  he  moved  softly  to  the  curtained 
doorway  of  the  drawing-room,  and  glanced  in.  Ap 
parently  Mary  had  planned  to  go  out  to  an  early 
dinner,  for  she  wore  an  evening  gown.  She  was  stand 
ing  erect  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  gazing  with  level 
eyes  at  the  immaculate  Mr.  Hilton. 

"I  am  here  at  five- thirty,  as  I  said  I'd  be,"  Hil 
ton  was  saying,  smiling  pleasantly.  "I  hope  you 
have  seen  the  wisdom  of  my  remarks  and  have  re 
considered  your  defiant  attitude  of  yesterday.  You 
undoubtedly  have  a  very  good  plan,  and  it  would  be 
most  unfortunate"  —  his  voice  was  soothingly  ar 
gumentative —  "if  you  compelled  me  to  tell  Mr. 
Morton  about  the  marriage,  and  tell  them  both 
who  your  relatives  are,  and  just  who  is  Mary  Regan. 
Most  unfortunate,  I  assure  you." 

"You  need  not  squander  your  emotion.  I  have 
the  money." 

"I  approve  your  good  sense!  You  have  the  full 
amount?" 

"You  may  count  it  for  yourself."  She  held  out  a 
little  roll. 

"Ten  five-hundred-dollar  bills.   Correct.  Though 

137 


MARY  REGAN 

it  pinches  me  that  you  could  not  make  it  the  ten  thou 
sand  I  asked  for.  However!  I  suppose"  —  in  high 
good  humor  —  "you'd  like  a  receipt  for  this.  It 
might  help  you  in  court  if  you  ever  decided  to  bring 
action  against  me." 

"Your  jocularity  is  not  greatly  appreciated.  Now 
that  you  have  the  money,  I  suggest  that  you  go." 

"As  pleases  you."  Drawing  back  the  lapel  of  his 
slender  afternoon  coat  —  it  had  been  a  warm  after 
noon,  and  he  had  worn  no  outer  coat  —  he  slipped 
the  bank-notes  into  the  top  pocket  of  his  vest.  "  In 
leaving  you,  Mrs.  —  ah  —  Grayson,  let  me  wish 
your  little  enterprise  the  most  complete  success. 
Good-afternoon." 

Clifford  was  on  the  point  of  springing  into  the 
room,  when,  to  his  amazement,  from  the  door  which 
opened  into  the  library,  there  emerged  the  plump 
figure  of  Peter  Loveman.  On  the  face  of  the  shrewd 
little  lawyer  was  a  bewildered,  almost  sickly  look, 
the  like  of  which  Clifford  had  never  beheld  on  that 
usually  amiable  and  ruddy  countenance. 

"Just  a  minute!"  said  Loveman. 

Hilton  whirled  about.  "Oh,  it's  Loveman! 
Hello,  Loveman." 

Loveman  crossed  toward  the  other.  "What  are 
you  doing  here?"  he  demanded. 

"Just  making  a  little  afternoon  call.  Will  you  re 
turn  the  courtesy  and  tell  me  how  you  come  to  be 
here?" 

"I  was  here  when  you  came,  and  was  waiting 
138 


MARY  REGAN 

until  you  had  gone  to  finish  my  talk  with  Mrs. 
Grayson."  Clifford  could  see  that  the  control  which 
had  slipped  away  from  Loveman  was  regained,  for 
the  little  man  was  benign  again  —  therefore,  dan 
gerous.  "Are  you  sure,  Hilton,"  he  said  softly, 
"that  your  purpose  here  was  only  to  call?" 

"Merely  social,  Loveman,"  the  other  replied, 
smiling. 

"I  think,  Hilton,"  continued  Loveman,  in  his 
soft,  pleasant  tone,  "that  anything  you  got  here 
you'd  better  return  to  Mrs.  Grayson." 

"I  have  nothing  to  return." 

"I  think  you'll  find  it  wiser  and  more  profitable 
in  the  end  to  return  it,"  went  on  Loveman's  pleasant 
voice. 

"I  have  nothing  to  return,"  repeated  the  other, 
drawing  on  his  gloves. 

The  two  men  gazed  at  each  other  steadily.  Clif 
ford  could  see  that  beneath  Hilton's  smiling  polite 
ness  there  was  defiance,  that  beneath  Loveman's 
soft  manner  there  was  menace.  He  was  puzzled  by 
this  hostility,  for  he  had  figured  that  the  pair,  with 
Bradley,  were  working  together.  But  he  instantly 
perceived  why  this  hostility  should  be  masked ;  the 
two  spoke  thus  indirectly  because  neither,  or  at 
least  not  Loveman,  wished  Mary  to  understand 
what  lay  between  them.  And  Mary  did  not  under 
stand;  the  bewildered  look  she  gave  the  pair  told 
Clifford  that. 

Hilton  ended  the  brief  tableau  by  picking  up  his 

J39 


MARY  REGAN 

hat  and  stick,  which  he  had  carried  into  the  room 
with  him.  "Good-afternoon,  Mrs.  Grayson;  this 
has  been  a  most  pleasant  occasion.  So-long,  Love- 
man." 

He  was  turning  away  when  Clifford  sprang  through 
the  doorway  and  upon  him.  Clifford  seized  his  right 
wrist  and  swung  the  arm  upward  and  backward 
with  a  vicious  twist  —  an  old  police  trick  —  and 
thrust  a  hand  through  the  flaring  front  of  the  ex 
quisitely  tailored  coat  and  possessed  himself  of  the 
bank-notes.  Hilton's  stick  and  hat  went  flying;  he 
let  out  a  cry  of  surprise  and  pain;  but  before  he 
knew  what  had  happened  to  him  there  had  snapped 
about  his  wrists  a  pair  of  handcuffs. 

Clifford  jerked  him  forward,  so  that  their  faces 
were  within  a  foot  of  each  other.  "Well,  Hilton, 
this  time  I've  got  you  with  the  goods  on!"  he 
snapped.  "This  will  be  the  last  woman  you  '11  squeeze 
money  out  of  for  about  five  years!" 

"See  here,  I've  done  nothing,"  gasped  the 
breathless  Hilton.  "That's  my  own  money — I 
had  it  when  I  came  here." 

Clifford  turned  to  Mary.  "  I  warned  you  what  he 
was  —  one  of  the  cleverest  of  that  new  trade  whose 
specialty  is  squeezing  big  money  out  of  women!" 

"He's  done  nothing,"  Mary  affirmed,  looking  di 
rectly  at  Clifford.  "You  —  how  did  you  get  in  here? 
I  heard  no  ring." 

"Pass-key.  That  story  doesn't  go,  Mrs.  Gray- 
son  —  it  does  n't  go,  Hilton.  I  was  right  on  Hilton's 

140 


MARY  REGAN 

heels  when  he  entered.  I  heard  him  demand  the 
money  on  threat  of  exposure.  I  saw  the  money 
passed." 

He  turned  abruptly  on  Loveman.  "And  you, 
Loveman,  you  fit  into  this  pretty  little  game,  too!" 

"Me,  Bob,  my  dear  boy?"  protested  Loveman. 
"Why  is  it,"  he  demanded,  in  a  tone  of  mourning, 
"that  the  innocent  bystander  is  the  one  that  always 
gets  the  copper's  stick  over  his  new  spring  derby?" 

"Your  suspicions  against  Mr.  Loveman — "  be 
gan  Mary. 

"Don't  say  a  word,  Mrs.  Grayson,"  Loveman  cut 
in  quickly. 

"Your  suspicions  against  Mr.  Loveman  are  mis 
taken,"  persisted  Mary.  "Mr.  Loveman  gave  me 
that  money." 

"Gave  you  the  money!"  exclaimed  Clifford. 

"Mrs.  Grayson!"  appealed  Loveman. 

But  Mary  went  on,  speaking  very  steadily  and 
with  a  formal  precision.  "You  are  right  about 
Mr.  Hilton.  He  came  yesterday  afternoon,  demand 
ing  money  which  had  to  be  paid  by  half -past  five 
to-day.  I  at  first  refused;  afterwards  I  recognized 
I  didn't  dare  not  pay.  I  did  not  know  where  to 
get  such  a  sum,  so  I  telephoned  Mr.  Loveman  that 
I  wished  to  see  him.  He  came  at  once,  and  I  told 
him  of  my  situation  and  that  I  could  not  possibly 
raise  the  amount  upon  such  short  notice.  Jack  did 
not  have  the  money,  and  I  could  not  have  asked 
him  for  the  amount,  anyhow;  and  my  uncle  is  away 

141 


MARY  REGAN 

out  on  the  coast.  I  asked  Mr.  Loveman's  advice. 
He  saw  my  predicament,  and  himself  offered  to  give 
me  the  money.  Half  an  hour  ago  he  came,  bringing 
the  money  which  you  have.  I  believe  that  com 
pletely  exonerates  Mr.  Loveman." 

"Yes,  Bob,"  Loveman  said  cheerfully,  "I  guess 
that  lets  me  out." 

Clifford  looked  keenly  at  the  little  man's  round, 
good-natured  face  —  behind  which  played  an  un 
matched  shrewdness.  Clifford  did  not  disbelieve 
Mary,  yet  it  seemed  to  him  out  of  the  man's  char 
acter  to  play  such  a  role  as  Mary  had  described. 
This  was  one  more  aspect  of  the  whole  situation 
which  for  the  moment  bewildered  him. 

"I  think,  Peter,  we'll  soon  figure  out  just  where 
you  fit  into  this  case,"  he  said  shortly.  He  turned 
to  his  prisoner.  "At  any  rate,  I've  got  you  for  fair, 
Hilton,"  he  said  grimly.  "Loveman,  kindly  oblige 
Mr.  Hilton  by  picking  up  his  stick  and  hat." 

"You  may  have  me  all  right,"  said  Hilton,  with 
a  pale,  twitching  smile  that  he  tried  to  force  to  be 
jauntily  indifferent,  "but  when  the  evidence  against 
me  is  produced  in  court  what  will  happen  to  Mrs. 
Mary  Regan  Morton  Grayson?" 

"Oh,  I  say,  Bob,"  Loveman  spoke  up  quickly, 
"call  it  square  if  he  gives  the  money  back  to  — " 

But  his  words  were  cut  off  by  the  ringing  of  the 
apartment  bell.  They  all  suddenly  became  as  fixed 
as  so  many  statues.  Then  Mary  spoke,  and  her 
words  came  rapidly :  — 

142 


MARY  REGAN 

"It  must  be  Jack,  home  from  the  office.  He's 
probably  forgotten  his  key.  Mr.  Loveman,  you  go 
to  the  door  and  prevent  his  coming  in.  Say  what 
ever  you  like." 

Loveman  slipped  through  the  curtained  doorway, 
and  the  next  moment  Clifford  heard  the  outer  door 
open.  Then  he  heard  an  amazed  voice  exclaim:  — 

"Well,  if  it's  not  Loveman!  Now  what  the  devil 
are  you  doing  here?" 

Clifford  and  Mary  both  started.  The  amazed  voice 
in  the  next  room  was  not  Jack's  voice. 

"I'm  here  —  on  a  little  business  —  with  Mrs. 
Gray  son,"  stammered  Loveman. 

"So  am  I,"  said  the  voice. 

"But  she's  engaged  —  I  assure  you  — " 

"I'll  only  take  a  minute  or  two.  Come  on;  you 
shall  introduce  me.  Don't  hang  back." 

The  next  moment  Loveman  was  pushed  through 
the  door,  and  behind  him  appeared  the  tall  figure  of 
Mr.  Morton,  evening  clothes  showing  beneath  his 
overcoat.  He  stopped  short  at  what  he  saw. 

"Why,  Mr.  Clifford!"  he  exclaimed.  And  then: 
"Why,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Gilmore !  Or  should 
I  say  Mrs.  Gray  son?" 

Clifford  saw  that  Mary  had  gone  almost  white. 
He  sensed,  and  he  knew  that  she  sensed,  that  one 
of  the  supreme  crises  of  her  new  life  —  the  life  that 
was  to  make  her  or  break  her  —  was  unexpectedly 
before  them. 

Mary  spoke  calmly.    "It  is  Mrs.  Grayson  now." 


MARY  REGAN 

"How  rapidly  events  do  happen  in  New  York," 
Mr.  Morton  remarked  politely,  his  keen  gray  eyes 
full  upon  her.  "Miss  Gilmore  when  I  saw  you  at 
the  Grantham  —  Mrs.  Gray  son  within  a  week. 
He  must  be  a  young  Lochinvar,  Mr.  Grayson,  the 
way  he  does  things." 

Hilton  had  been  standing  beyond  Clifford,  blocked 
out  of  Mr.  Morton's  first  swift  survey  of  the  scene. 
He  now  shifted  forward,  and  Mr.  Morton  saw  him, 
the  grip  of  Clifford  fastened  on  his  upper  arm,  and 
the  glinting  handcuffs  on  his  wrists. 

"What's  this  all  about?"  Mr.  Morton  exclaimed. 

Hilton  was  swift  to  see  what  advantage  for  him 
lay  in  the  situation.  He  stepped  nearer  Mr.  Mor 
ton. 

"  It  means  that  I  am  the  victim  of  a  most  unfor 
tunate  misunderstanding,"  he  spoke  up  quickly. 
"Mr.  Clifford  believed,  mistakenly,  that  I  had  come 
wrongfully  by  some  five  thousand  dollars  in  my  pos 
session,  and  he  took  the  money  from  me  and  placed 
me  under  arrest." 

"It's  none  of  my  business,  I  suppose,"  Mr.  Mor 
ton  said,  "but  is  this  correct,  Mr.  Clifford?" 

Clifford  remained  silent  for  a  moment.  In  a  flash 
he  saw  that  for  him  to  answer  with  the  full  truth 
would  lead  to  Mary's  instant  ruin:  this  after  he  had 
declared  that  he  had  stepped  out  of  her  life,  that  he 
was  going  to  leave  to  experience  and  her  own  de 
cisions  the  shaping  of  her  fate. 

"The  last  part  of  his  statement  is  correct,"  replied 
144 


MARY  REGAN 

Clifford  —  "  that  I  took  the  money  from  him  and 
^placed  him  under  arrest." 

"But  he  declares  the  money  is  his.  If  not,  whose 
is  it?" 

In  the  passing  moment  Clifford  had  decided  to 
put  it  squarely  up  to  Mary,  to  thrust  the  tangled 
threads  of  her  destiny  into  her  own  hands.  But 
Hilton  beat  him  to  the  very  reply  he  intended 
making. 

"Ask  Mrs.  Grayson  whose  money  it  is,"  cried 
Hilton,  and,  wheeling,  he  gave  Mary  a  meaning 
look. 

But  Mr.  Morton's  eyes  waited  on  Clifford.  Clif 
ford  turned  and  gazed  at  Mary. 

"Yes,  ask  Mrs.  Grayson,"  said  Clifford. 

"Mrs.  Grayson,"  said  Mr.  Morton,  "the  owner 
ship  of  this  disputed  money  seems  to  rest  on  your 
word." 

She  hesitated.  Clifford  read  beneath  that  white, 
calm  face:  realized  that  she  was  on  the  thinnest  of 
thin  ice  —  if  indeed  she  were  not  already  through 
it  and  in  the  black  waters.  He  believed,  and  was  cer 
tain  she  believed,  that  Mr.  Morton  already  knew  of 
the  marriage  —  but  did  he  know  of  the  other  things? 

"Whose  is  it,  Mrs.  Grayson?"  prompted  Mr. 
Morton. 

She  indicated  Hilton  with  a  nod.  "The  money  is 
his;  give  it  to  him,  Mr.  Clifford,"  she  said. 

Clifford  quickly  weighed  his  conflicting  responsi 
bilities.  To  give  Life  the  chance  to  test  Mary  out 

145 


MARY  REGAN 

to  the  end  of  this  experience  weighed  more  impor 
tant  than  the  mere  capture  of  Hilton. 

"Here  it  is,"  he  said;  and  thrust  the  bills  into  one 
of  the  handcuffed  hands  —  and  as  he  did  so,  out  of 
the  tail  of  his  eye  he  caught  a  look  of  dismay  on 
Loveman's  face. 

"Since  your  affairs  seem  to  be  adjusted,"  put  in 
Mr.  Morton,  "I  dare  say  you'd  like  to  be  saying 
good-afternoon." 

Clifford  removed  the  handcuffs,  Loveman  gave 
Hilton  his  hat  and  cane,  and  the  professional  en- 
tangler  of  women,  though  ruffled  somewhat  as  to  the 
perfection  of  his  apparel,  bowed  himself  out  with 
exquisite  manner. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  —  a  strain  upon 
all  except  Mr.  Morton,  who  had  the  light,  easy  bear 
ing  of  a  man  of  the  world  at  an  afternoon  tea.  If  he 
knew  or  guessed  anything,  he  did  not  show  »L  —  and 
his  pleasant  surface  made  him  seem  all  the  more 
dangerous. 

He  gave  Mary  a  slight  but  gracious  bow.  "  I  hope 
you'll  forgive  my  dropping  in  so  informally.  But  I 
had  learned  your  address  by  chance,  I  happened  to 
be  in  the  neighborhood,  and  I  wished  to  advance 
my  acquaintance,  begun  when  you  were  Miss  Gil- 
more." 

"I'm  sure  I'm  glad  you  called,"  returned  Mary. 

"Then  we'll  have  a  little  visit  — yes?"  He 
slipped  off  his  overcoat.  "  Mr.  Clifford,  I  know  Mrs. 
Grayson  would  be  glad  to  have  you  remain  as  our 

146 


MARY  REGAN 

chaperone.  Mr.  Loveman"  —  with  the  faintest  of 
ironic  smiles  —  "I  know  I  would  not  have  a  ghost 
of  a  chance  with  such  a  famous  lady's  man  in  the 
company,  so  I  am  going  to  have  the  audacity  to  ask 
you  to  call  again." 

He  had  spoken  with  lightness,  but  there  had  been 
autocratic  demand  behind  his  words.  Loveman  dis 
appeared  into  the  room  whence  Clifford  had  seen  him 
emerge,  and  returned  with  hat  and  coat.  He  tried  to 
speak  an  offhand  good-bye  —  though  Clifford  read 
that  his  soul  was  agitated  with  acute  uneasiness  — 
and  started  out. 

"I'll  be  back  in  a  moment,"  Clifford  said  to  the 
two,  and  followed  the  little  lawyer.  He  caught  him 
in  the  hallway  and  held  him  with  a  hand  on  either 
shoulder. 

"Loveman,"  said  he,  looking  down  into  the  round 
face,  "  I  certainly  was  up  in  the  air  for  a  time.  But 
I've  sized  up  the  whole  situation  now." 

"What  situation?" 

"The  situation  between  you,  Miss  Regan,  —  Mrs. 
Morton,  I  mean,  —  and  Hilton.  I  thought  that,  of 
course,  you,  Bradley,  and  Hilton  were  in  the  game 
together." 

"Well?" 

"  I  thought  there  was  just  one  scheme  on  foot  to 
blackmail  Mrs.  Morton.  I've  just  tumbled  to  the 
fact  that  there  were  two  schemes  —  and  that  there 's 
just  been  a  head-on  collision  between  the  two." 

"Bob,  my  boy,  please  elucidate." 

147 


MARY  REGAN 

"Further,  Loveman,  I  understand  your  generosity 
in  the  matter  of  that  five  thousand.  Bradley  had 
demanded  money,  and  you  knew  it.  When  Mary 
Regan  sent  for  you  yesterday,  told  you  of  the  de 
mand,  and  convinced  you  she  could  not  possibly 
meet  it,  you  had  an  inspiration.  It  would  n't  do  to 
withdraw  the  demand ;  better  to  give  her  the  money 
yourself,  and  thereby  increase  her  confidence  and 
gratitude  —  that  'd  make  her  more  inclined  to  fall  in 
with  you  when  you  wanted  to  use  her  in  some  other 
big  game.  And  your  five  thousand  which  you'd 
given  her  with  your  right  hand,  after  she'd  had  it 
for  just  a  few  minutes,  would  come  right  back  to 
your  left  hand.  A  great  idea,  Loveman!  —  great 
stuff!" 

"You're  smoking  too  much  hop,"  smiled  Love 
man  —  but  it  was  a  sickly  smile. 

"But  there's  many  a  slip  'twixt  the  right  hand 
and  the  left.  You  never  suspected  that  there  was  a 
second  blackmailer  on  the  job;  Mrs.  Morton  prob 
ably  thought  that  Bradley  and  Hilton  were  working 
together,  and  told  you  little  more  than  that  money 
was  demanded.  And  Hilton  has  walked  right  off 
with  your  five  thousand,  and  you'll  not  get  it  back. 
And  your  client  in  there,  Mr.  Morton,  is  on  to  Jack 
and  Mary  Regan,  and  the  part  you've  played,  and 
there's  about  to  be  an  explosion,  and  the  rest  of 
your  beans '11  be  spilled.  Good-night,  Peter,  old 
boy,  and  may  you  have  pleasant  dreams!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MR.    MORTON   TAKES  A  HAND 

ALL  thought  of  the  sickly-smiling  Loveman,  and 
all  his  ironic  jocularity,  slipped  from  Clifford  as  he 
stepped  back  into  the  graver  situation  which  existed 
in  the  drawing-room.  The  pair  had  seated  themselves 
during  his  absence;  Mary  was  regarding  Mr.  Morton 
with  a  composure  that  must  have  heavily  taxed 
her  nervous  capital. 

Clifford  took  a  chair  slightly  apart.  He  felt  that 
he  had  become  merely  an  onlooker.  The  scene  was 
to  be  played  out  between  Mr.  Morton  and  Mary. 
He  judged  that  the  easy  manner  of  Mr.  Morton  was 
a  ruthless  fury,  marvelously  controlled.  Watching 
them,  he  pulsed  with  suspense  as  to  how  Mary 
would  bear  herself  during  this  scene,  as  to  how  it 
would  come  out. 

Clifford  had  found  them  silent  when  he  had  re- 
entered,  and  this  silence,  pregnant  with  big  drama, 
continued  for  a  moment  longer.  Then  Mr.  Morton 
smiled. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  beating  about  the  bush,  Mrs. 
Grayson.  It's  awfully  hard  on  the  shrubbery.  So 
I'll  come  to  the  point.  Of  course  you  know  why 
I'm  here." 

"You  said  you  came  to  renew  your  acquaintance 
with  Miss  Gilmore,"  she  managed  to  say. 

149 


MARY  REGAN 

"Oh,  that,  of  course.  But  there's  another  reason. 
You  see"  —  with  his  pleasant  smile  —  "I  happen 
to  know  Mr.  Grayson." 

(Why  in  God's  name,  Clifford  asked  himself, 
did  n't  the  man  set  loose  the  anger  and  denunciation 
and  defiance  customary  in  such  situations,  and  not 
play  this  cat-and-mouse  game!) 

"And  Mr.  Grayson  being  such  a  good  friend," 
Mr.  Morton  continued,  "in  fact,  a  most  intimate 
friend,  I  naturally  was  most  eager  to  become  ac 
quainted  with  Mrs.  Grayson.  Please  do  not  con 
sider  that  I  am  descending  to  mere  flattery,  Mrs. 
Grayson,  when  I  say  that  I  applaud  his  taste." 

"Thank  you." 

"I  do  not  mean  to  depreciate  him,  but  he  has 
shown  a  finer  discrimination  than  I  thought  Mr. 
Grayson  capable  of." 

Clifford  saw  Mary  stiffen.  He  knew  her  instinct 
to  rush  forth  to  meet  an  inevitable  danger. 

"  I  also  do  not  believe  in  beating  about  the  bush," 
she  said  quietly.  "We  both  are  aware  that  in  speak 
ing  of  Mr.  Grayson  we  are  speaking  of  your  son." 

The  veiled  keenness  in  Mr.  Morton's  eyes  became 
open.  "  I  perceive,  Mrs.  Grayson,  that  you  are  not 
only  beautiful,  but  that  you  are  an  unusual  woman." 
He  did  not  speak  for  a  moment;  then,  "Let  me  add 
that  I  not  only  applaud  Jack's  taste,  but  approve 
his  choice." 

Both  Clifford  and  Mary  started.  "You  approve 
Jack's  choice!"  she  breathed. 

150 


MARY  REGAN 

"How  could  I  help  it?"  he  returned. 

Clifford  and  Mary  could  only  stare  at  him.  They 
had  expected  outraged  fury  —  and  this  had  come ! 
They  were  so  dazed  that  they  did  not  know  Jack 
had  entered  until  he  stammered :  — 

' '  Father  —  you  here ! ' ' 

"The  evidence  indicates  such,  my  boy,"  returned 
the  elder  Morton. 

"Why  —  why — "  He  looked  about,  frightened, 
helpless,  at  the  three;  and  then  stammered  on:  "I 
went  to  the  Biltmore  to  meet  you,  as  you  telephoned ; 
but  they  told  me  you  were  out,  and  I  thought  I  'd 
run  up  here  for  a  minute  and  then  get  back  — " 

"My  engagement  with  you,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Morton,  "was  merely  a  fatherly  subterfuge  to  keep 
you  away  from  here  while  I  had  a  little  visit  with 
Mrs.  Gray  son." 

"Then"  —  he  choked,  swallowed  —  "then  you 
know  everything?" 

"Not  everything.   But  I  know  the  essentials." 

"Oh,  my  God ! "  And  Jack  collapsed  almost  bone- 
lessly  into  a  chair  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

"Come,  brace  up  —  there's  nothing  to  worry 
about,"  half  growled  Clifford. 

"It's  all  right,  Jack,"  explained  Mary.  "Your 
father  says  he  approves  your  choice!" 

Jack  was  on  his  feet  as  though  an  electric  cur 
rent  had  hurled  him  upright.  "Is  that  so,  dad?" 

Mr.  Morton  nodded. 


MARY  REGAN 

In  two  eager  steps  Jack  was  across  the  room 
wringing  his  father's  hand.  "You  don't  know  how 
relieved  I  am!" 

"Why  should  you  think  I'd  object  after  really 
meeting  Mrs.  Grayson?" 

"Call  her  Mary,  dad." 

"  Mary,  then,  with  your  permission.  Plainly  Mary 
is  a  young  woman  of  exceptional  sense,  and  I  am 
sure  she  and  I  will  understand  each  other  splen 
didly."  .  -  *"<  '•*"••••  ••""•  -* 

,  Jack  crossed  swiftly  to  Mary.  "Mary!"  he  ex 
claimed,  seizing  her  hands,  "Mary!"  And  then  in 
a  lower  voice,  though  Clifford  heard  him:  "It's  all 
coming  true,  Mary,  —  it's  all  coming  true!" 

The  Golden  Doors  had  marvelously  swung  open! 

Mr.  Morton  was  speaking  again:  "Let's  get  back 
to  sensible  talk  —  which  is  what  I  came  here  for.  I 
wish  to  commend  your  discretion  in  this  matter. 
Boys  will  be  boys,  but  usually  they  're  boys  in  such 
a  noisy  way.  I'm  sure  the  discretion  was  yours, 
Mary." 

"  Discretion?  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said 
Mary. 

"  I  mean  that  you  have  done  everything  so  well," 
he  continued  pleasantly.  "  You  Ve  not  laid  the  affair 
open  to  instant  recognition  by  thoughtlessly  flaunt 
ing  yourself  about  with  Jack.  You've  even  taken 
the  precaution  of  wearing  the  conventional  rings. 
It's  the  Riverside  Drive  affair  done  in  the  best 
Riverside-Drive-affair  manner." 

152 


MARY  REGAN 

Clifford  saw  Mary  go  white  again,  and  whiter 
than  before,  as  Mr.  Morton  spoke;  and  he  thought 
she  was  going  to  fall  as  she  gathered  the  meaning 
of  his  words  —  gathered  what,  since  he  had  first  en 
tered,  had  been  his  real  conception  of  the  relation 
ship. 

"But,  dad — "  began  Jack  in  a  throaty  voice. 
"You  don't  know  what  you're  saying!  You  don't 
understand.  The  truth  is — " 

"Jack!"  cut  in  Mary. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do  understand,"  his  father  assured 
him.  "And  don't  try  to  shield  Mary  with  protesta 
tions.  She  does  n't  need  such  flimsy  protection." 

"Dad,"  demanded  the  young  fellow  huskily, 
"what  do  you  think  this  situation  is?" 

"The  obvious  and  usual  one:  you're  living  here 
together;  as  they  always  say  it  on  the  stage,  she's 
your  mistress." 

He  turned  to  Mary.  "Jack's  a  sentimentalist. 
But  you're  a  sensible  woman  and  don't  humbug 
yourself  by  hesitating  to  call  a  thing  by  its  right 
name." 

His  last  words  were  an  even-toned  affirmation 
of  a  commonplace,  not  a  question.  Clifford  watched 
Mary  closely:  of  a  certainty,  Life  was  testing  her! 
He  waited  tensely  for  her  reply,  and  so  did  Jack  — 
and  Clifford  realized  what  vague  worlds  of  different 
events  hung  upon  the  words  yet  within  her  lips. 

"  I  am  Jack's  mistress  —  yes,"  she  said,  looking 
very  straight  into  Mr.  Morton's  eyes. 

153 


MARY  REGAN 

"Mary,  that's—  " 

"Jack!"  she  ordered  sharply. 

"There's  no  nonsense  about  you,  Mary,"  said 
Mr.  Morton  approvingly.  "Jack  has  braced  up  so 
much  recently  — " 

"If  I  have  braced  up,  it's  been  because  Mary 
has  made  me!"  put  in  Jack. 

"I  don't  doubt  it,  and  I  want  to  thank  you, 
Mary.  He 's  braced  up  so  much  that  a  long-contem 
plated  marriage,  which  has  been  delayed  by  his 
irresponsibility,  can  now  go  through;  and  I  want  it 
settled  and  over  with,  quick,  while  Jack  is  still  in 
a  reformed  mood  —  before  he  breaks  loose  again.  I 
know  you'll  be  sensible  and  reasonable  about  this 
matter,  for  I  know  you  went  into  the  affair  knowing 
it  could  not  last." 

Jack  seized  his  father's  arm.  "Father,  you've 
got  to  listen  — " 

"Jack!"  Mary  again  cried  peremptorily. 

"She's  taking  it  with  a  lot  more  sense  than  you 
are,  son.  I'll  see  that  you  have  no  reason  to  com 
plain,  Mary.  I  '11  ask  Mr.  Clifford  to  talk  over  the 
arrangement  with  you.  He  can  speak  in  better 
taste  for  me  than  I  can  speak  for  myself." 

He  took  her  hand,  and  there  was  a  very  real  ad 
miration  —  of  its  sort  —  in  his  gray  eyes.  He  spoke 
in  a  lowered  voice. 

"  Merely  because  Jack  must  go,  I  don't  want  it  to 
be  the  end  of  things  between  you  and  the  Mortons. 
I  hope  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  soon." 

154 


MARY  REGAN 

"Perhaps,"  said  her  lips. 

" I  shall  count  on  it!"  —  pressing  her  hand. 

He  turned  away.  "Well,  son,  are  you  ready? 
I  've  made  an  engagement  for  you  for  to-night." 

But  Jack  sprang  to  Mary's  side,  and  seized  in 
both  of  his  the  hand  his  father  had  just  relinquished. 
His  handsome  if  weak  face  was  working  with  indig 
nant,  protesting  passion;  for  the  moment  he  was 
strong  and  sincere  and  fine  to  the  capacity  of  his 
nature. 

"  Mary,  I  'm  not  going  to  stand  for  this!  I  'm  not 
going  to  leave  you  in  this  way  —  I'm  not  that  kind 
of  a  rat!" 

"We  're  going  to  do  just  as  your  father  says,  Jack," 
she  said  with  quiet  dominance,  her  face  very  pale. 
"What  he  suggests  is  wisest  for  us  all." 

Jack  stared  at  her;  he  could  not  read  whether 
there  was  subterfuge  or  utter  finality  in  her  words. 
But  whatever  her  purpose,  he  recognized  that  in 
this  situation  her  way  had  to  be  his.  His  figure 
slumped  down,  and  he  turned  about. 

"Put  into  a  suitcase  whatever  you  may  need  at 
once;  you  can  send  for  your  other  things,"  said  his 
father,  and  pressed  him  through  the  door.  "Mary, 
after  a  few  minutes  in  the  next  room  with  me,  Mr. 
Clifford  will  return  for  a  talk  with  you.  For  myself 
this  must  be  good -night." 

"Good-night." 

Bowing,  he  went  out.  As  Clifford  —  mere  audi 
ence  —  followed  him,  he  saw  that  Mary  stood  un- 

155 


MARY  REGAN 

changed :  stiffly  erect,  and  pale  and  composed  — 
though  he  had  a  sense  that  her  dark  eyes  were 
unnaturally  wide. 

When  Clifford  reentered  the  room  fifteen  minutes 
later,  Mary  was  lying  face  downward  on  the  couch, 
her  whole  figure  taut.  She  heard  him  come  in,  and 
at  once  spoke,  not  changing  her  posture:  — 

"You've  been  talking  all  this  while?" 

"We  spoke  for  only  a  few  minutes.  The  rest  of 
the  time  I  Ve  been  sitting  in  there,  thinking."  Then, 
with  a  savage  burst:  "I  would  n't  have  let  Morton 
use  me,  only  I  wanted  to  see  you  again!" 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  told  me  to  settle  with  you  on  any  reason 
able  terms."  Clifford  stopped  and  waited,  but  she 
did  not  speak.  "Want  to  know  what  he  might  pos 
sibly  give?"  he  demanded. 

"What  else  did  he  say?"  she  asked,  not  moving. 

"A  lot  of  things  —  to  the  general  effect  that  you 
were  a  damned  decent,  square  little  sport." 

She  made  no  response  to  this. 

"Why  did  you  accept  the  position  he  put  you 
in,  of  being  Jack's  mistress?"  he  burst  out  roughly. 

"I  could  not  help  myself  —  unless  I  wanted  to 
ruin  everything." 

"Surely  you  do  not  still  hope  to  save  that  situa 
tion?"  he  exclaimed. 

She  did  not  answer,  and  again  there  was  silence. 
Then  the  doorbell  rang. 

156 


MARY  REGAN 

"Shall  I  answer  it?"  he  asked.  "It's  probably 
Jack  slipped  up  for  a  private  word." 

"I'll  answer  it,"  she  said. 

She  rose  from  the  couch.  He  had  expected  signs 
of  conflict,  agony,  perhaps  tears  or  hysteria;  —  if 
only  there  should  be  a  real  outbreak  of  hysteria! 
But  her  face  was  composed  and  clear-eyed. 

She  returned  a  moment  later,  bearing  a  large  box, 
on  its  top  in  gilded  letters  the  name  of  the  florist  who 
had  a  shop  opening  on  the  Mordona's  lobby.  She 
removed  the  lid  and  disclosed  a  rich  mass  of  orchids. 
On  their  top  lay  a  small  envelope  such  as  florists 
have  in  stock  for  the  convenience  of  patrons.  From 
this  she  drew  a  card,  which  she  read  and  then 
passed  to  Clifford  without  comment.  It  was  Mr. 
Morton's  card,  and  on  its  two  sides  was  closely 
written :  — 

I  am  going  to  be  a  lonely  man  to-morrow.  Won't  you- 
save  me  from  myself  by  dining  with  me  at  the  Ritz?  — 
and  then  an  act  or  two  of  a  play,  and  then  supper  wher 
ever  you  like?  I  '11  telephone  you.  — The  West  Indies  are 
heaven  just  now,  and  I  'm  thinking  of  chartering  a  yacht. 
A  cruise  of  a  month  or  so  in  those  waters  —  But  shall 
we  talk  it  over  to-morrow  night? 

Clifford  gazed  at  her,  automatically  handing  her 
back  the  card.  Rage  surged  up  in  him,  and  he  seized 
the  box  from  her  arms  and,  stepping  to  the  window 
near  which  they  stood,  he  raised  it,  and  threw  far 
out  into  the  Drive  some  fifty  dollars'  worth  of  or 
chids.  He  drew  down  the  window  and  turned  back  to 

157 


MARY  REGAN 

her.  But  her  look  expressed  neither  approval  nor 
disapproval. 

"  Well,  you  see  where  you  are!"  he  said  grimly. 
"  And  you  once  called  them  the  Golden  Doors!" 

She  nodded,  but  otherwise  did  not  respond.  Her 
face,  fixed  absently  on  his,  was  intently  thoughtful. 

Her  silence,  her  control,  her  look  of  far-away 
thought,  stirred  both  anger  and  consuming  curiosity. 
"Well  —  what  are  you  going  to  do?  What 's  the 
way  out?" 

"It's  not  the  way  out  I'm  thinking  of  —  it's 
the  way  in,"  she  returned  slowly,  quietly.  "The 
Golden  Doors  are  going  to  open." 

"Open!  How?" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"Through  that  Mr.  Mor — "  he  was  beginning, 
when  he  noticed  that  her  fingers  had  mechanically 
torn  the  card  across. 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  repeated  quietly.  "But 
they  are  going  to  open.  And  now,  please  go  —  I 
want  to  think." 

He  gazed  at  her  a  moment,  marveling  that  such 
unforeseen  manipulations  of  Life,  Life  the  great 
moulder  and  remoulder,  had  not  seemed  to  change 
her  ambition,  her  pride,  her  will,  her  girlish  confi 
dence:  he  understood  her — yet  she  was  the  eternal 
mystery!  Then  he  left  her,  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  hired  drawing-room,  mechanically  tearing 
into  tiny  sifting  flakes  the  invitation  to  a  voyage 
among  perfumed  seas. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MARY  FACES  A  CRISIS 

CLIFFORD  had  just  gone,  and  Mary  now  sat  alone 
in  the  ornate  drawing-room  which  for  a  brief  week 
she  had  occupied  as  "  Mrs.  Grayson,"  and  considered 
rapidly  the  situation  in  which  her  own  will  and  the 
unforeseen  working-out  of  life  and  human  nature 
had,  within  the  last  half-hour,  suddenly  placed  her. 
Concrete  questions,  with  their  inseparable  diffi 
culties  and  dangers,  rushed  upon  her:  What  was- 
Clifford  going  to  do?  What  was  Jack  going  to  do, 
whose  mistress  she  had  just  declared  herself  to  be 
before  his  father?  And  what  would  be  the  next  move 
of  Jack's  father,  amiable  forgiver  of  what  he  con 
sidered  Jack's  discreet  liaison,  whose  invitation  to 
a  yachting  tour  for  two  among  West  Indian  seas 
lay  in  tiny  fragments  upon  the  floor?  —  which  invi 
tation,  she  knew,  he  would  soon  repeat  and  press  for 
an  answer.  And  most  especially,  just  what  was  she 
going  to  do  herself  to  make  her  way  safely  through 
all  these  dangers  which  beset  her  plans? 

Again  she  recalled  Clifford's  grim  words:  he  was 
through  interfering  with  her,  he  was  going  to  leave 
it  to  Life,  to  the  shaping  forces  of  Life's  experiences, 
to  make  her  or  ruin  her.  Well,  she  was  going  to  show 
him!  She  was  going  to  make  Life  her  tool,  her  ally, 

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MARY  REGAN 

foer  servant  —  she  was  going  to  bend  all  its  currents 
to  carry  her  in  the  direction  of  her  desire ! 

And  then  for  a  space  she  felt  herself  at  a  loss  in 
this  new  turn  of  affairs.  She  felt  the  instant  need 
of  the  guidance  of  some  one  near  to  her.  Clifford? 
No,  she  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him  now. 
Her  brother  Slant-Face?  But  her  present  situation 
was  not  the  sort  in  which  the  skill  of  her  brother, 
whom  discretion  had  necessitated  her  neglecting, 
could  possibly  avail  her.  And  then  she  thought  of 
Uncle  George.  He  was  her  friend,  he  would  under- 
.stand  her;  and  no  one  could  give  more  shrewd  coun 
sel,  could  plan  more  cunningly,  than  this  urbane 
old  master  of  the  follies  of  the  world  and  of  the 
stratagems  by  which  the  world  could  be  made  to 
believe  his  wishes  to  be  its  own  inborn  desires.  Yes, 
.she  would  call  in  Uncle  George. 

And  then,  suddenly,  she  had  a  different  vision  of 
her  situation.  For  the  present,  at  least,  she  must 
act  alone.  She  arose  quickly.  Those  questions  that 
had  been  so  prompt  to  ask  themselves,  those  dan 
gers  that  had  presented  themselves  so  vividly,  they 
indeed  pressed  her  sorely;  but  most  pressing  of  all, 
she  decided,  was  that  she  should  move  from  here 
where  all  could  find  her  to  some  obscure  hotel,  where 
she  might  remain  undiscovered  for  a  few  days  and 
have  time  in  which  to  plan  and  act.  She  ordered  the 
trunks  up;  and  at  once,  with  the  help  of  her  maid, 
she  set  about  the  packing,  which  was  quickly  finished 
since  she  and  Jack  had  brought  nothing  to  this 

160 


MARY  REGAN 

richly  furnished  apartment  except  their  clothes.  All 
her  own  things  for  which  she  would  have  an  early 
need  she  put  into  one  steamer  trunk  and  a  bag. 

She  had  changed  into  a  traveling-suit,  had  paid  and 
sent  away  her  maid,  and  was  standing  in  the  hall  of 
the  apartment  watching  the  baggageman  tag  the 
trunks  and  taking  from  him  the  claim  checks,  when 
the  apartment  door  opened  and  in  stepped  Jack. 

He  stared  at  Mary,  at  the  trunks,  at  the  change 
that  had  been  made  in  their  brief  home  since  he 
had  left  it  two  hours  before.  But  he  stood  quietly 
at  one  side,  until  the  baggageman  had  shuffled  into 
the  corridor  with  a  trunk  humped  upon  his  shoulders. 

"Mary,  what  does  this  mean?"  he  demanded 
sharply. 

"I'm  just  leaving;  I  haven't  time  to  tell  you 
now.  I  '11  write  you  or  telephone  you." 

She  started  past  him,  but  he  caught  her  arm. 
"  Mary,  I  'm  going  to  know  this  now !  And  I  'm  going 
to  understand  everything  else!" 

He  was  white,  and  so  wrought  up  with  excitement 
that  she  perceived  that  whatever  problems  she  might 
be  facing,  the  most  pressing  and  the  most  dangerous 
was  the  barely  suppressed  frenzy  of  the  young  man 
before  her  —  which  frenzy,  if  not  controlled  and 
insulated,  might  bring  about  an  explosion  and  cause 
half  a  dozen  other  explosions.  "Come  on,"  she  said, 
and  led  the  way  from  the  stack  of  trunks  through  the 
drawing-room,  so  recently  the  scene  of  unforgettable 
drama,  into  the  study,  where  there  was  a  heavy  door 

161 


MARY  REGAN 

that  gave  privacy  and  in  which  minor  explosions 
could  take  place  unheard.  Jack  closed  the  door,  and 
stood  with  his  back  against  it  —  a  tense,  white,  hag 
gard  figure,  made  to  seem  all  the  more  haggard  by 
the  contrast  of  the  unemotional  formality  of  evening 
clothes. 

"I  was  at  dinner  with  father  and  Maisie  Jones 
—  she 's  the  girl  they  want  to  marry  me  to  —  and  a 
few  others,  but  I  managed  to  give  them  the  slip!" 
he  said  rapidly,  by  way  of  explaining  his  presence. 
"Tell  me"  —  his  burning  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  — 
"what  do  those  trunks  mean?" 

She  told  him  the  truth;  not  the  whole  of  it,  but 
what  she  did  tell  was  true  enough. 

"You're  not  going  to  do  anything  of  the  sort!" 
he  declared.  "  But  we  won't  argue  that  point  now. 
First  tell  me  this  —  why,  in  the  name  of  God,  when 
my  father  discovered  you  here  at  the  Mordona  hvo 
hours  ago,  did  you  admit  that  you  were  my  mistress? 
Yes,  and  made  me  admit  it!" 

She  spoke  quietly,  hoping  to  calm  him  by  her 
reasonable  voice.  "  It  began  with  your  father's  mis 
taken  conception  of  our  relations.  His  mistake  saved 
us.  It  would  have  been  foolish  not  to  have  fallen  in 
with  his  mistake.  Surely  you  understand  that?" 

"I  did  n't  understand  it,  and  it  made  me  sick!" 
he  cried.  "  I  backed  you  up,  just  because  I  knew  you 
wanted  me  to.  But  I'm  not  going  to  stand  any 
longer  for  this  lying,  this  living  in  secret!  I  'm  going 
to  end  it!" 

162 


MARY  REGAN 

"End  it?  How?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  let  my  father,  or  any  one  else, 
think. of  you  as  my  mistress!  I'm  going  to  tell  him 
we  're  married !  And  from  now  on  everything 's  going 
to  be  in  the  open!" 

She  had  never  liked  him  more  than  just, then. 
Whatever  else  he  might  be  in  the  future,  she  would 
never  be  able  to  forget  him  as  he  was  at  this  his 
Jiighest  moment  —  frenzied,  outraged,  dominated  by 
reckless  impulse.  But  she  saw  the  danger  to  her 
dreams  in  this  attitude. 

"It's  fine  of  you  to  say  that,  Jack,  but  you  must 
not  do  it." 

"Why  not?"  he  demanded. 

She  strove  to  keep  her  reasoning,  soothing  tone. 
"  It  ought  to  be  plain  to  you,  Jack,  You  are  entirely 
dependent  on  your  father.  If  he  were  told  of  our 
marriage  —  particularly  since  he 's  so  eager  to  have 
you  marry  that  other  girl  —  he'd  be  sure  to  cut  you 
off  in  every  way,  and  I  'm  not  going  to  have  that 
happen  to  you."  Within  herself  she  was  also  saying 
that  if  Mr.  Morton  were  told  of  the  marriage,  and 
if  she  and  Jack  lived  in  the  open,  father  and  son 
would  inevitably  and  swiftly  learn  who  she  really 
was  —  and  that  would  end  everything.  "We  must 
keep  it  all  quiet,  Jack,"  she  went  on,  "and  keep  on 
waiting,  and  after  a  time  we'll  have  our  chance  to 
win  your  father  around.  You  leave  it  to  me." 

His  face  had  suddenly  darkened  at  mention  of 
his  father.  "What  did  Clifford  offer  you  in  my 

163 


MARY  REGAN 

father's  behalf,  after  we'd  gone?"  he  demanded 
abruptly. 

"Mr.  Clifford  told  me  that  your  father  would  give 
me  in  settlement  any  sum  I  might  mention." 

"And  your  reply  to  that?" 

41 1  did  n't  make  any  reply.  There  was  none." 

"He'll  expect  a  reply.  He'll  come  for  it  himself, 
if  necessary." 

"That's  one  reason  for  my  moving  —  because  I 
knew  he  would  come." 

"Was  that  all  dad  offered?"  Jack  demanded. 
"You  made  a  big  hit  with  him." 

She  thought  it  best  that  the  inflammable  youth 
should  remain  ignorant  of  the  father's  invitation, 
convoyed  by  orchids  each  worth  a  bank-note,  to  the 
supposedly  disespoused  mistress  of  his  son  to  join 
him  in  a  very  exclusive  cruise. 

"That  was  all  that  happened,"  she  answered 
steadily. 

Quickly,  but  without  seeming"  haste,  she  shifted 
from  this  dangerous  subject,  back  to  their  difference. 
"Of  course  you  agree,  Jack,"  she  pressed  him,  "  that 
we  must  still  keep  things  quiet,  and  keep  on  wait 
ing?" 

His  desperate  mood  was  instantly  back  upon  him 
again.  "Even  if  we  could  keep  up  that  pretense," 
he  cried,  —  "why,  you're  forgetting  Maisie  Jones! 
You're  forgetting  my  predicament!" 

"Your  predicament? 

"  I  can't  keep  it  quiet,  even  if  I  want  to  I  Don't 
164 


MARY  REGAN 

you  see?  Now  that  I  Ve  settled  down  into  a  steady 
business  man  —  your  doing !  —  all  parties  are  willing 
that  Maisie  and  I  should  at  once  be  formally  en 
gaged  and  then  be  married  in  a  very  short  time. 
Father's  pushing  it  across  as  though  it  were  a  big 
option  that  expired  to-morrow.  Get  the  fix  that 
puts  me  in?  There  are  only  three  things  for  me  to  do. 
Run  away  from  it  all,  in  which  case  dad '11  be  done 
with  me  as  long  as  he  lives.  Or  say  I  won't  go 
through  with  the  thing  with  Maisie,  and  give  no 
reasons  —  which  means  the  same  result.  Or  else 
come  right  out  with  the  truth  that  I'm  married  to 
you.  See  my  fix?" 

Mary  saw;  and  swiftly  judging  her  many-angled 
situation  she  saw  that,  however  pressing  other 
matters  might  be,  this  matter  of  the  other  girl  was 
the  first  business  that  must  be  somehow  adjusted 
if  she  were  to  realize  her  vaulting  dreams  —  if  she 
were  to  pass  through  the  Golden  Doors.  And  as 
she  perceived  this,  she  had  an  instant's  realization, 
that  this  business  of  gaining  the  worldly  heights, 
which  had  at  the  inception  of  her  plan  seemed  so 
simple  and  easily  achievable,  was  every  day  becom 
ing  more  complicated,  more  tortuous.  Again  Clif 
ford's  grim  words  flashed  briefly  back:  "I'll  leave 
it  to  Life  to  test  you."  .  .  . 

"So,  you  see,  I  might  just  as  well  come  across  with 
the  truth  about  our  marriage!"  Jack  exclaimed. 
"It's  the  best  way  out  of  the  fix!" 

Mary  hardly  heard  him ;  she  was  rapidly  consider- 
165 


MARY  REGAN 

ing  this  new  problem.  "  You  've  never  told  me  how  it 
came  about,  this  arrangement  with  Miss  Jones." 

"Oh,  just  the  way  such  matters  usually  happen. 
Maisie  and  I  have  known  each  other  for  a  long  time ; 
there's  been  a  sort  of  unspoken  understanding  in  our 
families  that  some  day  we  'd  get  married  —  and  I 
guess  I  fell  right  in  with  it.  You  see,  I  rather  liked 
Maisie,  and  I  'd  never  thought  much  about  such 
affairs,  and  it  did  n't  make  much  difference.  But 
—  well,  you  know,  I  have  n't  been  behaving  very 
well ;  and  her  people  said  there  'd  be  nothing  doing 
unless  I  straightened  out.  Since  you've  set  me  to 
work  and  kept  me  working,  they  've  recalled  their 
veto  —  and  it's  all  right  with  them.  That's  about 
the  size  of  the  situation." 

"What's  her  attitude  toward  you?" 

"Maisie's?  I  guess  Maisie  rather  likes  me.  In 
fact,"  he  confessed,  "though  I  don't  deserve  it, 
Maisie  really  likes  me  a  lot." 

"What's  she  like?"  Mary  asked  quickly. 

"You  mean  looks,  or  —  or  personally?" 

"Personally." 

".Maisie's  an  awfully  fine  girl,"  he  answered 
soberly. 

"Does  she  have  any  special  interest?  —  some 
thing  through  which  an  appeal  might  be  made  to 
her?" 

"I  don't  quite  understand?" 

Mary  saw  that  for  her  purpose,  it  might  not  help 
any  if  he  did  understand.  "  Where  is  she  staying?" 

1 66 


MARY  REGAN 

"At  the  Grantham." 

"Who's  with  her?" 

"An  aunt;  her  father's  sister,  who  thinks  she 
manages  Maisie.  But  Maisie  does  just  as  she  pleases. 
—  But  what  are  you  driving  at  with  all  these  ques 
tions  about  Maisie?" 

"I  don't  know  myself  yet.  You  can  avoid  com 
mitting  yourself  for  a  few  days?" 

"I  suppose  I  can  stall  for  that  much  longer." 

"Then  listen,  Jack,  —  here's  just  what  we've 
got  to  do,"  she  said  rapidly,  dominantly.  "No 
matter  what  you  think,  or  feel,  we've  got  to  keep 
our  affair  quiet  for  the  present,  and  go  ahead  just 
as  we  originally  planned,  except  that  you  're  to  stay 
with  your  father.  I  '11  not  consent  to  any  other  ar 
rangement,  so  it 's  no  use  arguing.  You  go  every  day 
to  your  office  just  as  you've  been  doing;  I'll  call 
you  up  there  when  I  want  you.  And  don't  be  sur 
prised  at  anything  you  see." 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do,  Mary?"  he  in 
sisted. 

"I  don't  just  know  yet;  I'll  let  you  know  when 
I  do.  If  we  keep  our  nerve  it  will  all  come  out  all 
right.  Here  are  the  claim  checks  to  your  trunks; 
I  have  ordered  all  the  baggage  sent  to  the  Grand 
Central  Station.  You  must  go  now,  Jack,  —  you 
really  must!" 

She  fairly  pressed  the  bewildered,  unwilling  Jack 
from  the  apartment;  and  then  for  a  few  moments 
she  stood  in  the  hall,  now  cleared  of  her  luggage, 

167 


MARY  REGAN 

rapidly  planning.  Then  she  shot  down  the  elevator 
and  hurried  out  of  the  Mordona  to  a  taxi,  —  fortu 
nately  just  missing  Loveman,  who  she  knew  was 
coming  here  to  see  her,  —  and  some  twenty  minutes 
later,  again  registered  at  the  Grantham  as  "  Mrs. 
Gardner."  She  was  the  occupant  of  a  suite  on  the 
same  corridor  as  Miss  Maisie  Jones,  and  had  ordered 
her  trunks  brought  from  the  Grand  Central  Station. 

Settled  here,  she  continued  her  planning.  There 
seemed  no  end  to  the  plans  that  had  to  be  thought 
out,  to  the  dangers  that  must  be  eluded  and  averted. 
And  yet  she  felt  confident  —  very  confident. 

But  mixed  with  her  confidence  was  an  intermit 
tent  apprehension.  She  believed  she  had  avoided 
the  others.  But  Clifford  —  if  Clifford  would  only 
not  interfere. 


CHAPTER  XV 

LOVEMAN   SHOWS  HIS  CLAWS 

BUT  the  next  morning  came,  and  as  yet  there  had 
been  no  signs  of  Clifford. 

At  half-past  ten  Mary  rang  at  the  door  of  Maisie 
Jones.  Her  plan  for  beginning  their  acquaintance 
was  very  simple,  merely  the  adaptation  of  an  an 
cient  device  belonging  to  her  past  with  her  father 
and  her  Uncle  Joe  Russell  —  the  preparation  of  two 
letters  addressed  to  Miss  Maisie  Jones,  which  were 
in  fact  nothing  more  than  modistes'  engraved  in 
vitations  to  inspect  new  spring  styles. 

Miss  Jones  herself  answered  Mary's  ring.  "My 
name's  Mrs.  Gardner — these  letters  somehow  got 
mixed  in  my  mail,"  Mary  began,  smiling  with  the 
engaging  frankness  she  knew  how  to  assume.  "I 
could  have  returned  them  to  you  by  the  maid;  but 
the  maid  —  it  seems  you  and  I  have  the  same  maid 
—  told  me  that  your  aunt  was  ill,  and  I  thought  I  'd 
bring  them  myself  and  make  it  an  excuse  to  do  such 
an  un-New-Yorkish  thing  as  to  ask  how  a  sick  neigh 
bor  is." 

"Aunt's  not  seriously  ill,"  said  Maisie  Jones. 

"But  I  suppose  her  illness  means  that  you  must 
stay  pretty  close  to  your  rooms?" 

"Yes." 

169 


MARY  REGAN 

"I  can  sympathize  with  you.  I'm  convalescing 
from  pneumonia,  and  am  supposed  to  rest  the  whole 
time.  To  confess  the  truth  to  you"  —  with  a  smile 
of  guiltily  humorous  candor —  "my  real  reason  for 
bringing  the  letters  myself  was  that  I  saw  in  it  a  few 
minutes'  relief  from  this  awful  boredom  of  getting 
well." 

Miss  Jones  hesitated.  "Won't  you  please  come  in?" 

Mary  entered.  The  rest  was  natural  development, 
a  development  which  with  her  skill  she  made  rapid. 
She  was  humorously  frank  about  herself,  and  from 
personal  bits  which  she  adroitly  dropped  here  and 
there,  she  let  Miss  Jones  gather  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  a  New  York  family  who  moved  among 
the  city's  smarter  set,  that  her  husband  was  in  the 
far  West,  on  business,  and  that  the  other  members 
of  the  family  —  they  were  an  irrational  and  self- 
centered  lot  —  were  at  Florida  and  California 
resorts  gratifying  their  various  individual  predi 
lections. 

Frankness  begot  frankness.  Maisie  Jones,  a  shut- 
in,  was  most  willing  to  talk;  but  Mary,  though  mak 
ing  a  show  of  lively  interest  in  what  was  said,  was 
shrewdly  studying  the  girl.  Maisie  was  strikingly 
handsome  —  a  specimen  of  the  American  girl  who 
has  been  through  a  fashionable  school  and  then  had 
a  successful  year  or  two  in  society.  Mary  catalogued 
the  qualities  her  plans  must  take  account  of :  she  was 
spoiled,  willful,  proud,  jealous  —  possibly  vindictive. 

This  first  study  of  Maisie  completed,  and  the  open- 

170 


MARY  REGAN 

ing  made  for  future  meetings,  Mary  started  back  to 
her  suite,  thrilling  with  confidence.  Her  plan  was 
under  way!  And  she  was  going  to  succeed,  even 
though  she  was  going  it  alone! 

But  when  she  entered  her  sitting-room,  she 
stopped  short.  For  from  a  chair  had  risen  the  smiling 
person  of  Peter  Loveman. 

"Good-morning,  my  dear,"  said  the  little  lawyer. 

"How  did  you  get  here?"  she  demanded  sharply. 

"I  told  the  people  at  the  desk —  I  know  'em  all 
here  —  that  you  'd  telephoned  for  me,  and  had 
asked  me  to  come  right  up.  Your  door  was  not 
locked.  That's  all." 

"  But  how  did  you  know  I  was  staying  here?" 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  were  followed  from  the  Mordona 
last  night,"  he  answered  placidly. 

"How  many  know  this?" 

"Two  or  three  —  not  many  more,"  answered  the 
little  lawyer. 

So  then  she  was  not  to  have  her  few  unmolested 
days  in  which  to  mature  and  execute  her  present  de 
signs.  Her  dangers  were  in  point  of  time  closer  to 
her  than  she  had  thought.  Well,  she  must  work  all 
the  more  quickly,  all  the  more  skillfully. 

She  seated  herself,  and  he  resumed  his  chair.  "Of 
course  you've  come  here  for  a  reason,  Mr.  Loveman. 
What  is  it?" 

"That  was  a  fine  little  idea,  Mary,  we  originally 
worked  out  for  this  affair,"  he  began  amiably  — 
"for  you  to  marry  Jack  Morton,  keep  the  matter 

171 


MARY  REGAN 

quiet  until  you  were  fixed  solid  with  Jack,  and  until 
conditions  developed  so  that  you  could  win  over 
his  father.  Yes,  a  fine  little  idea.  It  would  have 
landed  you  at  the  top,  where  nothing  ever  could 
have  touched  you." 

"What  are  you  thinking  of  now?"  she  asked 
sharply. 

"Nothing,  my  dear,  —  only  we  both  know  that 
fine  little  idea  has  had  a  great  fall,  and  all  the 
king's  horses  and  all  of  God's  angels  can't  ever  put 
that  idea  together  again." 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  she  repeated. 

He  did  not  reply  at  once,  but  smiled  affably  and 
softly  rubbed  his  hairless  crown.  The  shrewdest 
brain  of  its  kind  in  New  York  had  done  a  lot  of  think 
ing  in  the  last  sixteen  hours.  Certainly  the  first 
stages  of  the  plan,  the  plan  as  he  had  planned  it  for 
himself,  had  fallen  down  calamitously.  And  he  had 
seen  the  further  stages  of  the  plan  (as  the  plan,  un 
known  to  Mary,  concerned  him)  menaced  with  sud 
den  danger —  and  had  seen  even  himself,  personally, 
on  the  brink  of  uncalculated  misfortune. 

"Isn't  it  plain  what  I'm  thinking  of,  Mary?" 
he  said  after  a  moment.  "After  what  happened 
yesterday,  it  does  n't  count  for  much  that  for  the 
time  you  made  Mr.  Morton  believe  you  were  only 
Jack's  mistress.  He's  certain  to  learn  the  facts  very 
shortly;  your  whole  plan  is  the  same  as  exploded. 
You  may  stave  off  the  end  for  a  day,  two  days  — 
but  hardly  longer." 

172 


MARY  REGAN 

She  refrained  from  speaking  of  her  present  enter 
prise.  "What  do  you  think  we  ought  to  do?" 

"This  has  always  been  a  business  proposition  for 
you,"  he  replied  in  his  amiable,  reasoning  manner, 
"and  the  way  things  have  turned,  it  naturally  is 
going  to  be  a  business  proposition  for  me  —  Mr. 
Morton  being  my  client,  you  know.  So  let's  con 
sider  how  we  can  make  the  most  out  of  it.  Now, 
first  item,  Mr.  Morton  is  bound  to  find  out  the  truth 
in  a  few  days.  If  he  finds  it  out  for  himself,  nobody's 
going  to  profit.  We  simply  lose,  say,  ten  thousand 
dollars.  My  first  proposition  —  this  is  small  money, 
of  course  —  is  that  we  arrange  to  beat  Mr.  Morton 
to  this  discovery.  You  know,  for  some  time  I  have 
been  under  directions  from  Mr.  Morton  to  follow 
up  Jack's  doings.  Now,  let's  say  that  to-morrow  I 
turn  in  a  report  that  the  detectives  I  've  employed 
have  just  discovered  that  Jack  is  married  —  which 
will  mean  a  bill  for  detective  service  of  at  least  ten 
thousand.  Right  there  is  ten  thousand  saved  out 
of  the  ruin.  Of  course  I  '11  split  it  with  you." 

Mary  managed  to  control  her  expression ;  she  saw 
a  few  things  regarding  Loveman  she  had  not  sus 
pected.  "And  after  that?" 

"Of  course  Mr.  Morton  will  want  to  institute 
proceedings  for  a  divorce,  and  naturally  I'll  be 
retained  as  his  attorney.  You  '11  make  him  pay  big 
for  the  separation;  and  I  being  on  the  inside  can 
tell  you  the  limit  that  you  can  make  him  pay 
over." 

173 


MARY  REGAN 

He  smiled  at  her  genially  as  though  it  were  a 
settled  matter  which  Mary's  good  sense  would  ap 
plaud.  Now  that  the  time  had  come  to  do  business, 
and  since  he  considered  that  Mary  was  in  this  with 
him,  he  had  not  hesitated  to  reveal  a  fragment  of  his 
method  as  a  specialist  in  domestic  affairs  —  which 
was  to  play  both  ends  and  every  point  between. 
Smiling,  he  expectantly  awaited  Mary's  approval. 

"And  after  that's  done,  then  what  becomes  of 
me?"  she  asked. 

"Why,  my  dear,  it  will  be  handled  so  that  you'll 
come  out  of  the  proceedings  with  a  pretty  fair  rep 
utation  and  holding  tight  to  the  name  of  Mrs.  Jack 
Morton.  With  such  a  handsome  woman  as  you 
are,  and  such  a  start,  there's  nothing  I  couldn't 
do  with  you  if  you  privately  put  yourself  under  my 
direction !  Nothing ! ' ' 

He  rubbed  his  soft,  finely  manicured  hands  in 
excited  anticipation,  and  let  his  speech  run  free. 
"Honest,  Mary,  this  is  the  big  thing  I  Ve  seen  in  this 
business  from  the  beginning.  I  never  thought  any 
thing  really  big  or  permanent  would  develop  from 
that  marriage.  Compared  to  other  prospects,  that 
was  only  pin-money  —  only  the  starter  —  only  the 
prologue.  The  curtain  really  goes  up  when  we're 
through  with  this.  Mary,  my  dear,  if  I  were  to  tell 
you  what  I've  done  for  some  women  in  this  town 
—  you'd  certainly  sit  up!  I  don't  know  now  just 
what  I  '11  do  with  you ;  I  'm  an  opportunist  —  I  al 
ways  play  for  the  biggest  chance  that  comes  along 

174 


MARY  REGAN 

at  a  given  time,  or  for  the  biggest  chance  that  I  can 
develop.  But  what  I  '11  do  for  you  will  be  strictly 
within  the  law  —  it  may  even  be  most  thoroughly 
respectable.  I  tell  you,  Mary,"  he  enthused,  "with 
me  handling  you,  with  my  knowledge  of  New  York 
life  and  of  the  strings  to  pull,  there  is  nothing  I 
can't  do  for  you!  —  I  tell  you  nothing!" 

His  large  eyes  were  shining  on  her  brilliantly. 
Rarely  had  this  master  of  domestic  intrigue,  this 
marvelously  keen  student  of  human  nature  and 
subtle  manipulator  of  human  weakness  and  ambi 
tions,  been  stirred  by  his  own  excited  imagination 
to  such  a  frank,  if  incomplete,  statement  of  the 
methods  of  his  art.  For  a  moment,  despite  herself, 
Mary  felt  half  carried  away  by  the  power  of  the 
little  man ;  saw  herself  for  a  moment  as  perhaps  at 
some  future  time  being  fitted  into  one  of  his  amazing 
plans. 

"And  for  all  this  what  would  you  expect?"  she 
asked. 

"Naturally  a  manager  would  expect  a  manager's 
share."  And  as  she  did  not  respond,  he  prompted 
her  briskly:  "Well,  now,  let's  get  back  to  the  first 
proposition  —  though  that's  mighty  small  peanuts. 
I  suppose  to-morrow  will  suit  you  all  right  for  me 
to  give  Mr.  Morton  my  detectives'  report  that  his 
son  is  married?" 

"No." 

"No!  Why  not?  It  won't  be  safe  to  put  it  off  any 
longer." 

175 


MARY  REGAN 

"Mr.  Loveman,"  she  said  quietly,  looking  at 
him  very  steadily,  "I'm  going  straight  ahead  with 
the  original  plan." 

He  sprang  from  his  chair,  fairly  sputtering  sur 
prise.  "Why,  you're  crazy!  You  can't  do  it!" 

"I'm  going  to  try." 

"But  you'll  fall  down  flat!  You  can't  possibly 
keep  this  thing  going  for  more  than  a  day  or  two!" 

"I'm  going  to  try,"  she  repeated. 

"If  you  do,  you'll  not  only  ruin  yourself,  but 
you'll  ruin  some  more  of  us,  too,"  he  said  in  con 
sternation.  "Why,  yesterday,  when  Mr.  Morton 
found  me  in  your  apartment  at  the  Mordona,  I  had 
the  closest  sort  of  shave.  And  now,  if  you  try  to  keep 
on  with  your  plan,  and  the  certain  explosion  comes, 
don't  you  see  that  Morton  will  learn  that  while  re 
tained  by  him  I  Ve  also  been  sitting  in  the  game  with 
you?  Don't  you  see  you'll  ruin  me?" 

"So  that's  why  you've  come  to  me  with  these 
new  propositions?"  she  said  keenly —  "to  save 
your  own  skin?" 

"Yes,"  he  said  defiantly,  "though  those  new  prop 
ositions,  the  last  one  at  least,  were  always  part  of 
the  plan  I'd  had  for  you." 

They  were  now  standing  face  to  face,  she  almost 
half  a  head  the  taller.  "Peter  Loveman,"  she  said 
slowly,  distinctly,  "despite  your  skin,  and  my  skin, 
I'm  going  straight  ahead." 

"What!"  he  exclaimed,  astounded;  and  then: 
"You  can't!  There's  that  explosion,  due  in  a  day  or 

176 


MARY  REGAN 

so  —  and  after  that  you  '11  be  nothing  but  smoke 
and  dam'  thin  smoke!" 

"  I  have  my  own  idea  of  how  to  do  it,  and  I  believe 
I  can  succeed.  Anyhow,  I  'm  going  straight  ahead." 

"No,  you're  not!"  he  said  sharply.  In  a  moment 
the  usually  amiable  face  had  become  grim  with  men 
ace  —  and  few  faces  could  be  more  truly  menacing. 
"If  you  won't  play  this  game  with  me,  Mary  Regan, 
then  this  minute  I  cut  you  out  of  it  and  play  the 
game  alone." 

"Just  what  does  that  mean?" 

"  It  means  that  I  '11  not  get  as  much  out  of  it  as  if 
we  worked  together  —  but  I  '11  get  it,  and  get  it  cer 
tain.  It  means  that  in  half  an  hour  Mr.  Morton  will 
have  my  detectives'  report  telling  of  the  discovery  of 
his  son's  secret  marriage  and  telling  all  about  who 
the  wife  is.  And  it  means  that  I  '11  handle  the  suit 
for  separation  —  and  that  I  '11  collect  for  both  serv 
ices.  And  it  also  means  that  I'll  deny,  and  deny 
successfully,  any  statement  that  you  may  make  as 
to  any  relations  between  us.  I  guess  that  fixes  you ! " 

"So,  you  'd  do  that ! "  she  breathed,  staring  at  him. 
Then,  without  another  word,  she  crossed  to  her  desk 
and  took  up  the  telephone.  "Central,  please  give 
me  Broad  9000." 

In  a  moment  Loveman  was  across  the  room  and 
had  seized  her  arm.  "That's  Mr.  Morton's  office!" 
he  exclaimed.  ' '  What  're  you  up  to  ?  " 

Giving  him  no  heed,  she  spoke  into  the  instru 
ment.  "Is  this  Broad  9000?  .  .  .  Please  tell  Mr. 

177 


MARY  REGAN 

Morton,  Senior,  that  Mrs.  Grayson  wishes  to  speak 
to  him." 

One  of  Loveman's  hands  closed  with  a  swift,  spas 
modic  grip  over  the  telephone's  mouthpiece,  the 
other  hand  fiercely  gripped  Mary's  arm. 

"What's  this  you're  up  to?"  he  demanded 
huskily. 

She  gave  him  a  calm,  defiant  look.  For  a  moment 
they  stood  so,  silent,  the  telephone  clutched  by  both 
of  them. 

"I'm  going  to  beat  you  to  it  —  that's  all,  Peter 
Loveman.  I  'm  going  to  telephone  Mr.  Morton  about 
Jack's  secret  marriage  and  about  who  his  wife  is  — 
and  there'll  be  no  big  bill  for  detective  services  for 
you.  And  I  'm  going  to  tell  Mr.  Morton  that  I  shall 
not  oppose  any  kind  of  divorce  or  separation  or 
annulment  proceedings,  and  that  I  shall  not  ask  for 
or  accept  one  dollar  in  the  way  of  settlement  —  and 
that  means  there  will  be  no  big  fee  for  you  for  han 
dling  a  difficult  case.  Out  of  this  you  "1  get  exactly 
nothing.  Now,  I  guess  that  fixes  you!" 

His  large  eyes  gazed  at  her  with  an  almost  super- 
penetration.  But  there  was  no  doubting  that  she 
would  do  as  she  had  said.  His  usually  ruddy  face, 
gone  pale  the  moment  before,  now  took  on  a  yellow 
ish  tinge.  Then  he  laughed  with  forced  joviality, 
and  removed  his  hands  from  the  telephone  and  her 
arm. 

"That  certainly  was  once  that  one  of  my  jokes 
was  taken  seriously."  He  laughed  again.  "Why,  you 

178 


MARY  REGAN 

poor  child  —  of  course  I  was  n't  going  to  double- 
cross  you!" 

She  was  not  deceived  by  this  swift  change  of  front. 
She  knew  that  she  had  shown  the  higher  card. 

"Is  what  you  say  to  be  interpreted  as  meaning 
that  you  will  not  interfere  with  my  plans?" 

"Go  right  on!"  he  said  heartily. 

"All  right."  She  hung  the  receiver  on  its  hook 
and  set  down  the  telephone.  "But  if  ever  there  is 
any  interference  which  seems  to  come  from  you,  I  '11 
do  exactly  what  I  said." 

"Oh,  come,  Mary,  forget  my  bit  of  gun-play.  You 
ought  to  know  that  I  was  only  fooling."  He  was 
now  thoroughly  amiable  again,  as  far  as  smile  and 
manner  went.  "Just  how  are  you  going  to  do  it, 
Mary?" 

"I'm  going  to  do  it  —  that's  all  I  can  definitely 
say  as  yet.  And  now,  I  have  a  lot  to  think  about  — " 

"And  you'd  like  to  have  me  go.  All  right,  I '11  go. 
But  say,  Mary,  —  you  sure  have  nerve!"  he  ex 
claimed,  with  a  sincerity  that  was  sincere.  "  Nerve, 
and  a  lot  of  other  things.  And  remember  this:  I'm 
counting  on  putting  you  across,  a  little  later,  in  the 
way  I  just  told  you  about.  You're  just  the  woman 
I  could  do  it  with  —  big!  Big  —  you  understand! 
Good-bye." 

As  the  little  lawyer  went  out,  Mary  took  a  deep 
breath.  That  was  one  danger,  and  an  unexpected 
danger,  that  she  had  narrowly  averted.  .  .  .  Her 
quick,  eager  mind  flashed  ahead  to  a  picture  which 

179 


MARY  REGAN 

his  words  had  suggested:  "Put  you  across  —  big!" 
Perhaps  later,  if  her  present  plans  went  awry,  she 
might  want  to  be  put  across  in  some  magnificent 
way  —  who  knew?  —  and  Loveman  was  the  one 
man  to  do  it. 

But  for  the  present,  Peter  Loveman  was  to  be 
trusted  just  so  far  as  he  could  be  trusted. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   STRINGS   OF  HUMAN   NATURE 

LOVEMAN  had  been  gone  no  more  than  fifteen  min 
utes,  and  Mary  was  thinking  upon  her  plans,  bal 
ancing  this  prospect  against  that  danger,  when  her 
telephone  began  to  ring.  She  took  it  up,  and  to  her 
dismay  the  voice  that  greeted  her  over  the  wire 
was  the  voice  of  Jack's  father.  His  first  words  she 
did  not  hear  at  all  —  her  senses  were  almost  wholly- 
concentrated  in  dismay  that  two  of  the  persons 
from  whom  she  had  sought  seclusion  had  within  a 
single  hour  learned  of  her  whereabouts!  How  soon 
before  all  would  be  about  her  again? 

"How  did  you  learn  where  I  am?"  she  asked 
automatically. 

"Why,  you  called  me  up  awhile  ago,  and  said 
Mrs.  Grayson  wanted  to  speak  to  me,"  he  replied. 
"  When  I  tried  to  answer,  you  had  hung  up.  But  Cen 
tral  located  the  telephone  the  call  had  come  from." 

Mr.  Morton  went  on  to  ask  to  see  her  at  once  — 
anyhow,  not  later  than  luncheon.  She  considered 
whether  she  should  see  him  again,  after  her  ad 
mission  of  her  liaison  with  Jack,  after  that  orchid- 
smothered  invitation  to  a  voyage  in  tropical  waters 
—  or  should  she  evade  him  by  once  more  running 
away?  But  running  away  would  mean  the  abandon- 

181 


MARY  REGAN 

ment  of  her  plans  involving  Maisie  Jones  —  and  that 
she  could  not  do.  Besides,  at  the  best  she  would  only 
delay  the  meeting  with  Mr.  Morton;  the  meeting 
itself  was  inevitable. 

While  her  lips  replied  to  him,  her  mind  considered 
rapidly.  Should  she  see  him  alone  —  or  in  public? 
Only  by  a  solitary  meeting  could  she  reduce  the 
ever-present  danger  of  accident  prematurely  re 
vealing  her  identity  to  him ;  but  a  solitary  meeting, 
in  view  of  what  he  supposed  to  be  her  character, 
might  prompt  him  to  make  open  advances  of  a  sort 
suggested  by  his  perfumed  invitation  —  which 
advances  she  dared  neither  permit  nor  too  bluntly 
repel.  And  then  she  thought  of  what  might  be  a  way 
out  —  the  small  Japanese  Room  just  off  one  of  the 
large  dining-rooms:  this  would  give  her  the  protec 
tion  of  both  privacy  and  publicity.  She  suggested  it 
to  Mr.  Morton,  and  he  promptly  said  he  would  re 
serve  the  room  and  would  meet  her  at  half-past 
twelve.  ' '  Please  remember  this, ' '  she  ended ,  —  "  here 
at  the  Grantham  I  am  known  as  Mrs.  Gardner." 

She  slipped  down  shortly  after  twelve,  to  avoid 
the  danger  of  recognition  by  any  one  in  the  crowd 
of  lunchers  who  would  come  in  a  little  later.  But  as 
she  passed  through  a  hallway  on  the  main  floor,  she 
glimpsed  a  square  figure  behind  a  newspaper  — 
Bradley.  She  went  on  without  pause  and  slipped 
into  the  Japanese  Room.  So  Bradley,  too,  had 
learned  of  her  whereabouts! 

Ten  minutes  later  Mr.  Morton  entered,  looking 
182 


MARY  REGAN 

as  sprucely  young  as  fifty  can  look,  wniling  admira 
tion  in  the  gray  eyes  that  were  more  accustomed  to  a 
gaze  of  autocratic  command.  Mary  had  previously 
placed  herself  at  the  table  so  that  she  could  see  into 
the  larger  room  without  being  seen,  and  during  the 
preliminaries  of  their  conversation  her  main  facul 
ties  were  surreptitiously  directed  beyond  the  hang 
ings.  Presently  she  saw  Loveman  enter  the  larger 
room.  Instinctively  she  knew  Loveman  had  fol 
lowed  Mr.  Morton  here,  to  keep  close  watch  over 
what  he  did  and  what  might  develop.  After  her 
scene  that  morning  with  Loveman,  she  knew  he 
would  strike  the  instant  he  saw  she  was  failing,  or 
thought  she  was  about  to  fail.  Loveman  and  Bradley 
—  her  seemingly  simple  plan  certainly  was  growing 
complicated ! 

And  then  a  little  later  she  saw  Clifford  enter.  Her 
heart  skipped  a  few  beats:  so,  then,  he  was  watch 
ing  her,  as  she  had  expected!  What  might  he  intend 
doing?  .  .  .  Well,  whatever  it  might  be,  she  would 
go  straight  ahead! 

Presently  she  had  to  give  more  heed  to  Morton, 
for  he  was  touching  upon  things  that  were  vitally 
personal.  "Let  me  again  applaud  the  discretion 
you  showed  in  your  affair  with  Jack,  Mrs.  Gardner," 
he  was  saying.  "And  again  let  me  compliment  you 
on  your  sensible  attitude  when  you  saw  the  affair 
had  to  be  broken  off." 

"Thank  you." 

"Pardon  my  referring  to  the  sordid  money  side 

183 


MARY  REGAN 

of  things,"  he  went  on.  "I  was  prepared  to  meet 
whatever  you  had  in  mind  —  but  Mr.  Clifford  has 
reported  to  me  that  you  would  accept  no  settle 
ment.  I  do  not  quite  understand." 

"I  did  not  enter  into  the  affair  with  Jack  expect 
ing  to  be  bought  off,"  she  replied. 

He  looked  at  her  keenly,  but  said  no  more  on  the 
subject.  "There  is  one  thing  that  has  surprised  me 
a  bit,  though,  in  so  discreet  a  woman  as  you  are, 
Mrs.  Gardner:  that  is,  your  coming  to  the  very 
hotel  at  which  Miss  Jones  is  staying." 

"It  is  the  hotel  at  which  I  usually  stop." 

"I  was  merely  thinking  that  your  being  under 
the  same  roof  might  lead  to  some  unexpected  hap 
pening  that  would  let  Miss  Jones  learn  —  you  under 
stand.  But  you  are  very  sensible  and  careful." 

He  leaned  over  the  little  table.  "And  now  let's 
talk  about  you  and  me,"  he  said  softly.  "What  is 
your  answer?" 

"My  answer?"  she  evaded. 

"To  my  suggestion  that  we  explore  a  more  ami 
able  climate  —  together." 

Her  back  was  against  the  wall.  "I'd  rather  not 
have  to  answer." 

"But  your  mind  is  made  up?" 

She  hesitated.  "Yes,"  she  admitted.  "But  I'd 
rather  not  speak  —  not  just  now." 

"Why  not?" 

"There  may  develop  complications;  complica 
tions  which  I  can't  now  explain." 

184 


MARY  REGAN 

"But  at  least,"  he  urged,  "can't  you  give  me  a 
hint  of  what  your  answer  will  be,  if  complications 
do  not  interfere?" 

She  thought  rapidly.  He  was  pressing  her  hard 
from  one  direction,  and  outside  sat  Loveman,  a 
danger  from  another  direction  —  watching  her, 
ready  to  expose  and  destroy  her  at  the  slightest 
sign  of  failure.  Of  the  two  she  just  then  feared  Love 
man  the  more.  She  had  to  put  Morton  off  —  she  had 
to  have  some  weapon  against  Loveman. 

An  idea  flashed  into  her  brain  —  a  desperate  idea, 
but  she  was  now  playing  a  desperate  game. 

"Won't  you  please  give  me  a  hint?"  he  insisted. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  with  the  air  of  one  consenting, 
"here  is  a  proposition  that  may  sound  to  you  absurd 
—  but  then  a  woman  is  supposed  to  be  irrational. 
For  my  own  reasons  I  can't  now  tell  you  what  my 
answer  is,  but  I  '11  write  it  out  in  a  letter  and  give  it 
to  you  if  you  '11  promise  not  to  read  it  until  you  have 
my  permission.  That  way  you'll  always  have  my 
answer  with  you.  I  may  telephone  or  telegraph  you, 
when  I  'm  ready  for  you  to  open  the  letter." 

"I  promise,"  he  agreed. 

"Then  I'll  write  it  here,"  she  said. 

The  waiter  brought  heavy  stationery,  and  with 
Mr.  Morton's  fountain  pen  she  began  to  write. 
He  watched  her  closely  until  he  was  certain  she  was 
engrossed  in  her  note,  then  stealthily  he  possessed 
himself  of  her  handbag  which  she  had  left  upon  a 
third  chair  beside  the  table.  This  he  cautiously 

185 


MARY  REGAN 

opened,  and  into  it  he  slipped  an  envelope  which  he 
took  from  his  pocket.  Then  he  closed  the  bag  and 
returned  it  to  its  place. 

Mary  finished  her  letter,  thrust  it  into  an  en 
velope,  which  she  sealed.  This  she  held  tentatively 
above  the  table. 

"On  your  honor  as  a  gentleman  you  promise  not 
to  open  this  until  I  give  you  the  word?" 

"Promise?    I  swear!" 

"And  you  promise  not  to  try  to  be  —  too  friendly 
until  I  give  you  the  word?" 

"That  comes  hard  —  but  I  promise  that,  too." 

She  held  out  the  sealed  envelope.  He  took  it,  and 
also  caught  her  hand. 

"Even  if  I'm  not  allowed  to  read,  I'm  allowed 
to  guess — and  hope,"  he  said  softly;  "and  in  the 
mean  time,  I'm  going  to  call  on  you  now  and 
then  —  and  for  the  sake  of  discretion,  I  '11  take 
my  chances  and  come  unannounced."  And  smiling 
expectantly  he  slipped  her  letter  into  the  inner 
pocket  of  his  coat. 

A  little  later,  when  they  had  parted,  she  met 
Uncle  George  near  the  elevators.  It  was  evident 
that  he,  too,  had  just  finished  lunching. 

"Mary,"  he  said  solemnly,  "excuse  me  for  not 
having  failing  eyesight,  as  a  man  of  incurable  senility 
should  have  —  but  really  I  could  n't  help  lamping 
the  would-be  gazelle  you  were  eating  with." 

"What's  wrong  with  my  doing  that?"  she  asked 
defensively. 

1 86 


MARY  REGAN 

"Nothing  at  all,  dear  —  nothing  at  all:  only  just 
remember  that  no  matter  what  his  song  is  nor  how 
soft  he  sings  it,  he's  an  old  goat  in  a  canary's  skin." 

41 1  believe  I  can  manage  him,"  she  returned  con 
fidently. 

"I  hope  so,  Mary —  I  hope  so.  But  he 's  descended 
from  one  of  the  first  families  of  Sodom  and  Gomor 
rah,  and  he's  a  wise  party,  and  he  knows  what  he 
wants  and  he  knows  how  to  get  it,  and  he  usually 
gets  it,  too." 

Uncle  George  paused  a  moment,  then  added: 
"  Excuse  my  seeing  it,  dear  —  I  've  got  the  habit  of 
seeing  things  and  can't  break  it.  But  did  you  notice 
that  he  put  something  in  your  bag?" 

"No." 

"  Then  if  you  don't  believe  my  old  eyes,  you  might 
take  a  look  for  yourself.  ' 

She  opened  her  bag.  There  was  the  envelope 
Mr.  Morton  had  slipped  into  it,  unsealed  and  fat. 
Surprised,  she  drew  from  the  envelope  a  folded 
packet  of  bills  and  rapidly  fingered  them. 

"Ten  one-thousand-dollar  bills!"  she  breathed. 

Uncle  George  nodded.  "Just  so.  That's  how  he 
sings  a  little  love  song.  But  he  can  sing  a  lot  of 
different  sorts  of  songs,  and  he's  a  swell  performer 
at  a  lot  of  other  acts  besides  singing.  That's  all, 
Mary  —  except  here 's  hoping  you  beat  him  in  the 
end.  But,  though  you  're  clever,  I  'm  not  placing 
any  bets  on  you.  Good-bye,  dear." 

Up  in  her  apartment  Mary  considered  the  matter 
187 


MARY  REGAN 

of  this  money.  Mr.  Morton,  she  perceived,  was 
playing  the  game  as  he  saw  it;  and  for  the  present, 
she  decided,  she  must  seemingly  play  the  game  in 
the  same  way.  She  returned  the  notes  into  the 
envelope,  and  slipped  the  packet  into  a  drawer  of 
her  desk. 

She  thought  over  her  situation  as  a  whole  for  a 
few  minutes.  Her  original  plan  involving  Maisie 
Jones  would  have  been  difficult  enough  had  she  been 
permitted  the  few  days  on  which  she  had  counted 
in  which  to  work  it  out  uninterrupted,  but  this 
prompt  injection  of  Loveman,  and  then  of  Morton, 
into  her  scheme,  doubled  the  number  of  human 
objects  which  she  must  juggle  without  a  slip.  The 
situation  was  difficult,  yes,  —  it  would  require  the 
sharpest  alertness  of  all  her  wits,  —  but  she  could 
do  it! 

Mary  composed  herself  and  went  in  again  to  see 
Maisie  Jones,  on  whom  she  had  promised  to  call 
after  she  had  lunched.  While  they  chatted  Mary 
studied  the  girl  with  new  intentness,  dropping  in 
adroit  questions  which  would  bring  out  revealing 
remarks.  Instinctively  she  despised  this  daughter  of 
plutocracy :  a  fluffy  blonde,  who  had  had  every  good 
thing  in  life  served  to  her,  unasked  for,  upon  a 
golden  platter,  who  had  never  once  had  to  think 
for  herself.  She  deserved  just  what  was  being 
planned  for  her!  But  despite  Mary's  scorn  —  which 
was,  perhaps,  composed  in  part  of  that  hate  which 
human  nature  feels  toward  its  contemplated  victim 

188 


MARY  REGAN 

—  Mary  perceived  that   beneath  the  girl's  fluffy 
worldliness,  she  was  fundamentally  the  sort  of  girl 
who  develops  into  a  woman  whose  life  is  centered 
upon  her  domestic  affairs  and  domestic  happiness 

—  who  demands  and  subsists  upon  loyalty.     And 
Mary  now  knew  enough  of  Jack  to  know  what  Jack, 
with  his  instability  of  purpose  and  affection,  would 
in  the  years  to  come  bring  into  the  life  of  this  girl. 

Again,  as  in  the  morning,  Mary  one  by  one  drew 
out  the  other  qualities  that  lay  beneath  Maisie's 
girlish  charm.  She  was  spoiled,  selfish,  full  of  tem 
per,  vindictive  —  and  also  she  was  proud  to  the  last 
degree,  and  she  seemed  inflexibly  a  Puritan  in  mind 
and  impulses.  It  was  upon  the  last  two  qualities,  of 
pride  and  inflexible  Puritanism,  that  Mary's  quick 
mind  based  her  now  swiftly  maturing  plan. 

Presently  Mary,  in  her  r&le  of  a  member  of  the 
smarter  New  York  set,  brought  her  light,  humor 
ously  cynical  talk  about  to  some  of  the  men  she 
knew  —  to  rumors  of  their  none  too  circumspect 
amours;  and  then,  quite  casually,  she  mentioned 
Jack  Morton. 

"You  know  Jack  Morton?"  Maisie  Jones  asked. 

"  I  Ve  met  him  —  yes." 

There  was  a  quick  flash  of  jealousy  in  the  blue 
eyes.  "I  happen  to  know  him,  too,  —  a  little.  Is 
he  —  is  he  like  those  other  men  you  spoke  of  ?" 

"You  mean  in  regard  to  women?" 

"Yes." 

Mary  appeared  not  to  be  aware  that  this  topic 
189 


MARY  REGAN 

had  a  personal  interest  for  Maisie  Jones.  Also  she 
had  swiftly  calculated  how  she  must  handle  this 
particular  business.  If  she  told  Maisie  outright  some 
scandal  concerning  Jack,  Maisie  in  her  pride  might 
refuse  to  believe  her,  and  the  matter  would  end  right 
there.  Maisie  had  to  be  so  led  that  she  believed 
herself  to  be  leading,  and  whatever  she  learned  she 
must  apparently  find  out  for  herself. 

"Miss  Jones,  these  men  are  all  alike,"  Mary  an 
swered  lightly,  "and  they  say  Jack  Morton  is  the 
most  alike  of  them  all." 

"But  —  but  I'd  heard  that  Jack  Morton  was 
very  steady  just  now." 

"That's  the  little  way  men  have."  Mary  gave 
the  soft,  cynical  laugh  of  the  wise  young  woman  of 
fashion.  "The  more  that  men  have  to  hide,  the 
more  steady  and  proper  do  they  try  to  appear." 

"You  mean  that  he  is  —  that  there  is  a  woman 

"  Maisie  Jones  could  get  no  further. 

"So  they  say.  And  I  'm  told  he's  the  same  as  en 
gaged  to  a  nice  girl  in  Chicago  —  poor  thing!" 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  Mary  discreetly  avoided 
looking  in  Maisie's  direction. 

"Are  you  —  are  you  certain  about  that  other 
woman?"  asked  a  strained  voice. 

"  I  've  seen  him  about  with  her  several  afternoons." 

"Afternoons?  I  thought  he  was  busy  till  five 
o'clock." 

"That's  a  man's  oldest  pretense,  being  busy  all 
day/' 

190 


MARY  REGAN 

Again  a  brief  silence;  then  again  the  strained 
voice,  trying  to  be  steady  and  indifferent: 

"What  is  she  like?" 

"I  tell  you  what,"  said  Mary  casually,  "if  you 
really  want  to  know,  I  think  I  can  show  her  to  you 
—  with  him.  I  've  noticed  them  having  tea  together 
at  the  Biltmore  several  times  recently.  If  you  like 
we  can  go  there  for  tea  this  afternoon  —  it  will  do 
us  both  good  to  get  out  —  and  in  the  big  crowd 
there  at  tea-time  we'll  never  be  noticed." 

"All  right,"  said  Maisie. 

"Then  suppose  you  call  for  me  at  my  apartment 
at  four." 

It  was  so  agreed.  Mary  said  that  she  might  be  a 
few  minutes  late  because  of  an  errand  she  had  to  do, 
but  that  she  would  leave  her  outer  door  unlatched 
so  that  Maisie  might  come  right  in  and  wait  for  her, 
and  she  told  Maisie  she  need  not  ring,  as  her  bell 
was  out  of  order. 

Mary  went  away  with  a  sense  that  her  delicately 
devised  plan  was  now  under  full  way;  and  she  saw, 
as  though  the  event  were  now  concluded,  just  how 
Maisie  Jones  would  react  when  she,  Mary,  pulled 
the  strings  of  human  nature.  On  learning  what  she 
believed  to  be  the  truth,  Maisie's  Puritanic  soul 
would  be  so  horrified  that  she  could  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  Jack;  and  further,  her  pride  would 
not  permit  her  ever  to  let  the  public  know  that  she 
had  been  neglected  for  another  woman,  or  possibly 
even  jilted.  Her  pride  would  make  her  keep  Jack's 

191 


MARY  REGAN 

secret  for  her  own  self -protection,  and  make  her 
forestall  the  possible  appearance  of  being  jilted  by 
herself  doing  the  jilting  first. 

All  that  now  remained,  before  Mary  should  be 
safe  again  —  barring  interference  from  Clifford  — 
was  for  human  nature  to  react  according  to  human 
promptings. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   OTHER   WOMAN 

MARY  sat  on  the  bed  in  the  bedroom  of  her  suite, 
trying  to  moderate  Jack,  who  had  furtively  stolen 
up  five  minutes  before  in  response  to  her  telephone 
summons.  The  stage  was  set  for  the  last  act  of  her 
carefully  planned  version  of  the  eternal  triangle,  — 
the  time  for  the  curtain  to  rise  was  near  at  hand,  — 
and  as  she  talked  to  Jack  she  kept  her  ears  alert 
for  any  sound  that  might  come  through  the  open 
door  connecting  with  her  sitting-room.  This  would 
denote  the  entrance  of  Maisie,  and  was  to  be  the 
cue  for  the  action  to  begin  on  which  she  had  staked 
everything.  To  prevent  any  misadventure  to  her 
plan  through  the  automatic  habit  of  ringing  bells, 
Mary  had  disconnected  the  wire. 

She  had  not  told  Jack  of  the  role  that  he  was 
to  play,  for  she  had  not  dared  to  trust  him  with  the 
knowledge  that  he  was  playing  a  role  —  he  might 
balk ;  so  she  had  the  added  difficulty  of  so  managing 
him  that  he  would  play  a  part  without  even  guess 
ing  that  he  was  play-acting. 

"I  can't  stand  this  situation  any  longer,  Mary," 
Jack  fumed.  "I  want  to  come  out  with  it  all!  Think 
of  me  having  to  sneak  up  here  to  see  my  own  wife! 
And  think  of  the  other  angle  of  my  damned  situa- 

193 


MARY  REGAN 

tion  —  being  fairly  shoved  to  the  brink  of  the  altar 
with  another  woman.  I  can't  stall  that  thing  off  for 
more  than  a  day  or  so  longer.  Then  I  '11  simply  have 
to  come  out  with  the  truth  —  our  being  married." 

"Jack,"  she  said  sharply,  for  there  had  been 
dynamite  in  his  temperish  speech,  "you  must  re 
member  what  you  just  agreed  upon  —  that  even 
when  we  're  alone  you  are  not  to  refer  to  my  being 
your  wife,  or  to  our  marriage.  You  are  not  to 
speak  of  those  things  again  until  I  give  my  consent." 

"All  right,  Mary,"  he  groaned. 

"For  the  present  we've  got  to  keep  up  the  pre 
tense  that  our  relationship  is  what  we  admitted  be 
fore  your  father.  You  promise  that,  too?" 

"All  right — I  promise.  But  this  is  certainly 
hell!"  And  he  looked  his  misery;  for  his  habit  of 
life  had  accustomed  Jack  Morton  neither  to  suffer 
ing  nor  self-restraint.  "But  say,  I  don't  see  that 
you  're  working  out  anything  with  Maisie  Jones  — 
at  least  I've  felt  no  relief." 

"You  will  if  you  keep  your  promises." 

She  looked  at  the  little  gold  clock  —  Jack's  gift  — 
on  her  dressing-table;  the  hour  was  exactly  four. 
She  must  now,  with  her  utmost  carefulness,  steer 
the  dialogue  without  Jack's  guessing  that  it  was 
being  steered. 

"What  we're  doing  is  for  the  best,  Jack,  —  you 
must  trust  me  as  to  that,"  she  said.  "  But,  of  course, 
things  were  a  lot  more  comfortable  when  we  were 
at  the  Mordona." 

194 


MARY  REGAN 

"Why,  our  flat  there  was  heaven!"  he  ex 
claimed.  She  had  him  talking  on  the  right  tack  now, 
and  he  held  the  course  enthusiastically.  Her  ears 
reached  out  for  other  sounds  than  his  words;  and 
after  a  minute  or  two  she  heard  a  slight  noise  in  her 
sitting-room  —  and  she  knew  that  Maisie  Jones  had 
entered ;  and  she  knew  —  in  fact  she  was  visual 
izing  it  —  that  Maisie  had  heard  Jack's  voice,  that 
Maisie  had  suddenly  paused  and  was  breathlessly 
listening. 

"It  was  pleasant,  Jack,"  she  said  distinctly  — 
her  mind's  eye  seeing  the  effect  on  the  tense  figure  in 
the  next  room. 

"I'll  never  forget  that  little  flat,  sweetheart,"  he 
enthused.  "That  week  we  spent  at  the  Mordona 

—  say,  that  was  living!" 

"And  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson — " 
"I  wish  we  were  back  there  now,  Mary!"    And 
he  seized  her  hands. 

"Perhaps  when  you  get  things  straightened  out 

—  and  suspicion  quieted  down  — " 
"You  mean  about  Maisie  Jones?" 

"Yes.  Perhaps  then  we  can  go  back  to  our  flat 
in  the  Mordona." 

"No.  Not  back  there.  The  Mordona  won't  be 
safe  for  us  until  —  you  know!  But  this  old  town  is 
full  of  other  nice  little  flats  —  where  we  '11  be  quiet 
and  cozy  and  nobody '11  ever  find  us  out.  And  we'll 
do  it  the  minute  you  say  the  word!" 

"And  I'll  say  the  word  just  as  soon  as  it  is  safe. 
195 


MARY  REGAN 

You  must  go,  Jack,  in  just  a  minute,  for  I'm  ex 
pecting  some  one." 

Enough  had  been  said;  her  little  scene  was  now 
complete;  the  listening  figure  in  the  next  room  could 
put  but  one  interpretation  upon  what  she  had  heard. 
Mary  let  Jack  hold  her  hands  and  his  ardent  gaze 
she  returned  with  a  seemingly  equal  ardor.  But  her 
faculties  were  really  all  in  the  next  room,  witnessing 
what  was  happening  there.  She  visioned  the  girl  as 
standing  transfixed  at  this  evidence  of  Jack's  faith 
lessness;  and  then  in  pain,  in  a  fury  of  pride,  stealing 
silently  away  —  later  to  say,  if  by  any  chance  she 
ever  again  spoke  to  Mary,  that  she  had  changed  her 
mind  and  had  decided  not  to  come  that  afternoon. 

That  stricken,  creeping  figure  was  what  Mary 
visioned;  that  was  the  way  she  had  calculated  hu 
man  nature  would  react.  What  she  actually  saw, 
the  next  moment,  was  Maisie  Jones  standing  in  the 
doorway,  her  hands  clenched  so  that  her  white 
gloves  had  burst  at  a  dozen  seams,,  her  figure  trem 
bling,  her  blue  eyes  blazing  fury. 
V  "I've  heard  everything!"  she  gasped.  "Oh, 
you—" 

"Maisie!"  breathed  Jack,  staring. 

"Oh,  you  sneaks  —  you  liars  —  you  beasts  — 
both  of  you!" 

"  Maisie  —  you  don't  understand  —  listen  — " 

"Don't  come  near  me!"  She  backed  through  the 
door.  "  Don't  come  near  me!" 

He  followed  her  in  consternation,  Mary  behind 
196 


MARY  REGAN 

him,  until  all  three  were  in  the  sitting- room.  "Lis 
ten,  Maisie,  for  God's  sake!"  he  cried.  "You  don't 
understand  — " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do  understand!"  the  furious  girl 
flamed  at  him.  "After  what  I  heard,  I  could  n't 
help  understanding!  You're  simply  a  low,  vicious, 
lying  beast  of  a  man,  Jack  Morton,  —  you  with 
your  pretense  of  having  steadied  down  and  become 
a  worker!  And  this  woman  you've  been  living  with 
—  your  —  your  —  " 

He  had  seized  her  wrist.  "Maisie,"  he  said,  "say 
what  you  like  about  me.  But  don't  say  a  word 
against  Mary  —  for  Mary  — " 

"Jack,  stop!"  Mary  cried  sharply,  thrusting  her 
self  between  the  pair.  She  was  dismayed  by  this  un 
expected  development  of  her  carefully  constructed 
triangle  —  but  if  she  could  end  this  scene  quietly  the 
situation  might  somehow  be  saved.  "Stop,  Jack!" 
she  added  warningly.  "What  she  says  won't  hurt 
me." 

Maisie,  her  control  now  all  gone,  turned  her  fury 
and  scorn  full  upon  Mary.  "You  adventuress! 
You  common  street  woman!  You  cheap  seller  of 
yourself!  You  —  you — " 

Jack  gasped  at  her  enraged  words,  then  broke 
through  Mary's  intervention. 

"You  shall  not  say  such  things  about  Mary!"  he 
cried  in  an  almost  equal  rage.  "Mary  is  my  wife!" 

"Your  wife!"  repeated  Maisie. 

"Yes,  my  wife!" 

197 


MARY  REGAN 

"Jack,  be  still!"  cried  Mary.  "Miss  Jones,  he's 
lying  to  protect  me.  I  don't  like  the  words  you 
used  about  me;  but  in  substance  they're  the  truth." 

"They're  not  the  truth,  Maisie!"  Jack,  for  that 
moment,  had  passed  beyond  Mary's  control.  "She's 
my  wife,  and  nobody  can  say  such  things  about 
her!  She's  my  wife,  and  I  can  prove  it! "  Swiftly  he 
took  a  wallet  from  an  inside  pocket  of  his  vest,  drew 
a  slip  of  paper  from  it,  and  thrust  it  into  Maisie's 
hands.  ' ( There  —  look  at  that ! ' ' 

There  was  neither  time  nor  chance  for  Mary  to 
interfere.  Maisie  glanced  at  the  slip  of  paper.  Her 
volcanic  wrath  suddenly  subsided ;  her  face  blanched. 
Then  mechanically  her  lips  repeated  the  script  in 
the  printed  form  she  held:  "John  Harrison  Morton 
and  Mary  Russell  Regan." 

She  looked  up;  she  was  in  a  daze.  "Your  marriage 
certificate,  Jack,"  she  said  in  her  mechanical  tone. 
And  then  questioningly :  "But  Mary  Regan?" 

"That's  Mary's  real  name  —  she  just  borrowed 
the  name  of  Mrs.  Gardner,"  Jack  explained.  "You 
see  we  were  married  secretly  because  Mary  thought 
father  would  object  to  her;  and  also  because  —  don't 
take  this  in  a  wrong  way,  Maisie  —  because  of  what 
father  wanted  you  and  me  to  do." 

"I  see,"  said  the  heavy  lips.  She  turned  to  Mary, 
"But  those  things  I  just  overheard?  And  your 
pretending  not  to  be  Jack's  wife?" 

Mary's  plan  had  gone  so  far  from  its  calculated 
course,  and  so  swiftly,  that  upon  the  instant  she  saw 

198 


MARY  REGAN 

no  better  way  than  to  tell  the  truth  —  even  if  she 
should  not  tell  it  all. 

"Miss  Jones,  I  planned  for  you  to  overhear,  and 
believe,  what  passed  between  Jack  and  me  —  though 
Jack  had  no  knowledge  of  what  I  was  doing.  I 
thought  that  if  you  discovered  that  Jack  was  in  love 
with  another  woman  —  and  had  been  living  with 
her  —  your  insulted  pride  would  cause  you  to  break 
with  Jack  and  give  no  reason." 

"Yes  —  go  on,"  breathed  the  girl. 

"You  see,  Jack  was  in  the  worst  sort  of  a  predica 
ment.  He  was  married  to  me;  he  was  dependent  as 
to  his  future  upon  his  father;  and  his  father  was  try 
ing  to  press  him  into  an  immediate  marriage  with 
you.  It  was  a  matter  of  days.  Had  he  told  the  truth 
or  had  he  for  no  explained  reason  broken  with  you  — 
either  would  have  ended  him  with  his  father.  There 
was  only  one  way  out  of  the  situation  that  would 
not  ruin  Jack,  and  that  was  for  you  to  be  the  one  to 
break  it  off.  To  play  upon  you  so  that  you  would  do 
that,  that's  what  I've  been  trying  to  do." 

"I  see."  The  girl,  grayish  pale,  regarded  Mary 
in  dazed  wonderment.  "But  why  did  you,  just  a 
moment  ago,  try  to  make  me  believe  that  you  were 
Jack's  —  his  —  his  mistress?" 

"To  keep  Jack's  father  from  learning  the  truth. 
Don't  you  see  it?  If  you  should  tell  his  father 
that  you  had  learned  that  Jack  had  a  mistress,  it 
would  not  injure  Jack's  prospects  nearly  so  much  as 
if  you  told  him  that  Jack  had  a  wife." 

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MARY  REGAN 

"And,  Maisie,"  Jack  cut  in,  "if  T  have  steadied 
down,  it's  because  Mary  made  me!  I  want  you  to 
know  that!" 

The  blue-eyed  girl,  standing  very  still,  and  breath 
ing  very  tensely,  made  no  response,  but  kept  her 
gaze  fastened  upon  Mary.  Mary  tried  to  guess  what 
was  passing  in  the  mind  of  this  girl  —  young,  will 
ful,  of  proven  jealousy  and  temper,  who,  holding 
that  marriage  certificate  in  her  hand,  held  also 
Mary's  fate.  What  was  that  girl  going  to  do? 

A  minute  or  more  passed,  all  three  of  them  mo 
tionless  and  silent  —  a  space  Mary  was  never  tc 
forget.  Then  the  tableau  was  sharply  broken  by  a 
soft  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  suite.  The  three 
turned  about,  just  as  the  unlatched  door  swung 
cautiously  open  and  into  the  room  stepped  the  elder 
Morton,  his  masterful  face  bouqueted  with  a  smile. 
He  stopped  short  and  the  smile  was  plucked  away. 

No  one  of  the  four  moved  or  spoke ;  then  followed 
tense  silence  which,  though  but  a  moment  long, 
seemed  an  epoch  to  three  of  the  group  —  each  of 
whom  sensed  a  different  charge  of  human  dynamite, 
its  fuse  sputtering,  in  this  scene.  .  .  .  The  elder  Mor 
ton,  here  on  such  other  business,  looked  penetrat 
ingly  at  the  unexpected  trio :  did  the  presence  of  the 
three  mean  that  Maisie  had  learned  the  truth  about 
Jack  and  Mrs.  Gardner?  —  which  would  disrupt  one 
of  his  dearest  and  most  patient  plans.  And  also  did 
they  suspect  why  he  was  here?  ...  As  for  Jack,  he 
was  merely  stricken  dumb  and  powerless  with  a 

200 


MARY  REGAN 

sense  of  unavertable  disaster  —  the  axe  was  already 
falling.  .  .  .  And  Mary,  her  will  nullified  for  the 
moment  by  a  sense  of  futility,  breathlessly  watched 
the  grayish  face  of  Maisie  Jones,  who,  in  the  hand 
that  now  held  the  crumpled  marriage  certificate,  also 
held  the  swift  finale  to  all  her  planning ;  each  second 
she  expected  the  outraged,  jealous,  and  vindictive 
girl  to  speak,  or  hand  the  crumpled  paper  to  the 
gray-templed  man  beside  the  door. 

It  was  the  elder  Morton,  trained  by  his  worldly 
experience  to  keep  on  playing  his  part  whatever  the 
circumstances,  who  ended  this  hour-long  moment. 

"I  just  started  to  call  on  you,  Maisie,"  he  ex 
plained  evenly,  pleasantly,  "and  at  your  door  I 
learned  from  a  maid  that  you  were  with  Mrs.  Gard 
ner.  I  pressed  the  bell-button,  then  knocked,  but 
as  there  was  no  answer,  and  as  the  door  was  open, 
I  ventured  in  —  and  here  I  find  the  three  of  you." 

Mary  felt  the  uselessness  of  further  effort,  since 
the  other  girl  held  her  fate  in  her  tightly  clenched 
hand;  but  her  inborn  quality  of  keeping  on  me 
chanically  forced  words  from  her  lips  —  though  as 
she  spoke  them  she  recognized  her  words  as  a  lame 
explanation.  "Miss  Jones  was  going  out  with  your 
son,  and  as  she  was  passing  she  stopped  in  for  a 
moment." 

Mr.  Morton  looked  keenly  at  Maisie,  and  waited; 
and  Mary  looked  at  her,  in  suspense  yet  sure  of  the 
end,  and  waited. 

Then  the  gray-faced  girl  spoke  for  the  first  time 
201 


MARY  REGAN 

—  and  her  fingers  twitched  about  the  document  she 
held. 

"Yes,  Jack  and  I  were  passing,  and  just  dropped 
in." 

Mary  maintained  her  outward  composure,  but 
inwardly  she  started.  So!  —  Maisie  Jones  was  hold 
ing  back  her  weapon,  waiting  her  chosen  time  to 
strike. 

Morton  seemed  to  accept  Maisie's  words;  but 
before  another  word  could  be  spoken,  while  all  the 
dangerous  human  elements  of  the  situation  were  in 
suspense,  Mary  saw  a  new  figure  press  open  the 
unlatched  door — Peter  Loveman.  In  a  flash  she 
understood  the  little  lawyer's  presence:  that  dread 
which  had  caused  him  to  be  forever  hovering  about 
her  and  Mr.  Morton  had  made  him  follow  Mor 
ton  here  —  that  he  might  be  beforehand  and  save 
himself,  in  case  of  mishap  to  her  impossible  plans. 

Her  mind,  working  with  incredible  speed,  had 
another  instantaneous  fear.  Every  instant  she  ex 
pected  Clifford  to  enter  and  add  to  the  complica 
tions  swarming  upon  her. 

Loveman's  round,  keen  eyes  swiftly  took  in  the 
situation.  To  him  this  coming  together  of  the  four 
of  them  face  to  face,  of  Mr.  Morton,  Jack,  Mary, 
and  the  girl  Jack  had  been  directed  to  marry,  could 
have  but  one  meaning,  one  outcome.  His  speech 
followed  his  conclusion  so  promptly  that  there  was 
barely  a  moment  between  his  entrance  and  his  first 
word. 

202 


MARY  REGAN 

"Pardon  my  coming  up  here,  Mr.  Morton/'  he 
said  rapidly,  stepping  forward,  "but  the  matter  is  so 
immensely  important  as  to  abrogate  formalities.  I 
have  just  made  a  discovery  — " 

"Mr.  Morton,"  Mary  interrupted  sharply,  press 
ing  between  the  two  men.  She  knew  that  yet  a 
new  destruction  was  in  Loveman's  next  eager  words; 
and  her  instinct  to  keep  on  fighting  to  the  very  end 
instantly  controlled  her.  "Mr.  Morton —  before  you 
hear  him,  read  my  letter!" 

"Your  letter?"  queried  Mr.  Morton,  taken  aback 
by  the  suddenness  of  all  this. 

"The  letter  I  gave  you  in  the  Japanese  Room.  The 
letter  I  told  you  to  hold  until  I  gave  you  permission 
to  read  it.  You  have  it  with  you?" 

"Yes,  here  it  is,  Mrs.  Gardner."  He  drew  an  en 
velope  from  an  inner  coat  pocket. 

"Mr.  Morton,  I've  just  discovered — " 

"Read  my  letter  first,"  Mary  again  broke  sharply 
in  upon  Loveman.  "The  time  has  come  that  I  spoke 
of,  Mr.  Morton,  —  the  time  when  you  have  my  per 
mission  to  read  my  letter.  It  tells  you  all  that  Mr. 
Loveman  has  discovered  and  more!" 

"Mr.  Morton—" 

"You  wait,  Loveman.    Mrs.  Gardner  first." 

Mr.  Morton  ran  a  forefinger  beneath  the  em 
bossed  flap.  The  little  lawyer  was  yellowish-pale, 
there  was  a  spasmodic  quivering  of  the  soft  folds 
beneath  which  his  Adam's  apple  was  throbbing. 
Mary  saw  Loveman's  condition,  and  with  a  seem- 

203 


MARY  REGAN 

ingly  involuntary  action,  laid  a  hand  upon  the  finger 
of  Mr.  Morton's  that  was  sheathed  in  the  envelope. 

"That  letter  contains  everything,  Mr.  Morton. 
I  was  n't  quite  ready  for  you  to  know  it.  I  'd  rather 
you  did  not  know  it  yet  —  but  Mr.  Loveman  has 
forced  me."  She  turned  to  Loveman,  and  her  next 
words  had  in  them  a  hidden  meaning  for  him,  and 
another  meaning  for  Mr.  Morton.  "Since  you  are 
determined,  Mr.  Loveman,  that  Mr.  Morton  must 
know  it,  I  prefer  that  he  learn  it  from  me  —  and 
that  he  learn  everything." 

In  her  steady  glance,  the  sallow  little  man  read 
reckless  defiance  —  and  beneath  her  words  he  read 
the  offer  of  a  bargain.  And  he  had  a  swift  sense, 
vague  as  yet,  that  the  situation  might  not  be  as 
desperate  as  he  had  at  first  believed. 

"If  Mrs.  Gardner  really  prefers  that  nothing  be 
said  about  it  just  now  —  " 

"I  do  prefer,"  she  interrupted  him. 

"Why,  then,  naturally,  I'll  not  say  anything  at 
present  —  provided  Mrs.  Gardner  agrees  to  say 
nothing." 

"I  agree." 

"And  the  letter?"  softly  suggested  Loveman. 

"With  your  permission,  Mr.  Morton,"  and  Mary 
deftly  slipped  the  envelope  out  of  his  hands. 

"But,  see  here,  the  letter  was  mine!"  Morton  ex 
claimed.  "Where  do  I  come  in?" 

"It  is  my  confession,  is  it  not?  —  and  hasn't  a 
woman  the  right  to  choose  the  time  when  she  makes 

204 


MARY  REGAN 

it?  You  shall  know  everything  —  when  the  right 
time  comes." 

She  turned  to  the  little  lawyer.  "  I  believe  that  is 
all,  Mr.  Loveman." 

"But  the  letter?"  he  prompted. 

She  understood.    "You  definitely  promise?" 

"Yes." 

"Very  well,  then"  —  and  slowly,  all  eyes  upon 
her,  Mary  tore  the  sealed  letter  up  and  dropped  the 
pieces  into  the  waste-basket. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Each  of  the  four  had 
his  own  belief  as  to  the  revelation  in  that  letter  she 
had  so  calmly  torn  to  fragments.  As  for  Mary,  she 
was  outwardly  composed  enough;  she  believed  that 
the  crisis  with  Loveman  was  safely  passed  —  per 
haps;  but  every  second  she  was  poignantly  aware 
of  the  danger  represented  by  that  motionless  girl 
who  still  held  the  marriage  certificate  in  her  hand. 
Mary  could  not  guess  what  that  emotional,  jealous, 
pampered  girl  would  do,  nor  at  what  instant  she 
would  do  it. 

Mr.  Morton  turned  from  Mary  to  Jack  and 
Maisie.  "Run  along,  children,"  he  said  pleasantly, 
"and  do  whatever  it  was  you  were  planning  to  do. 
I  may  pick  you  up  later  somewhere." 

Almost  mechanically  the  girl  walked  out.  With  a 
quick  glance  of  fear  at  Mary,  Jack  went  after  her 
—  and  Mary  followed  her  with  her  eyes,  wondering. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

HOW   MAISIE  JONES   REACTED 

MR.  MORTON  turned  upon  Mary  the  instant  Jack 
and  Maisie  Jones  were  out. 

"Mrs.  Gardner,  how  much  did  Miss  Jones  learn  or 
guess  about  you  and  Jack?"  he  demanded  sharply. 

"You  saw  the  scene,  you  can  draw  your  own  con 
clusions,"  replied  Mary.  "If  you  wish  to  know  def 
initely,  I  suggest  you  ask  Miss  Jones." 

"U'm.  She  didn't  seem  to  know  just  what  to 
make  of  the  scene  —  but  I  don't  believe  she  sus 
pected  anything.  You  carried  it  all  off  mighty  well, 
—  Mrs.  Gardner,  —  mighty  well;  in  fact  you  saved 
the  situation.  Loveman"  —  with  sharp  rebuke  - 
"you  damned  near  spilled  everything,  trying  to 
blurt  out  your  discovery  before  Miss  Jones!" 

"That's  once  I  did  n't  stop  to  think,"  apologized 
Loveman. 

"Then  suppose  you  excuse  yourself  and  do  some 
thinking  outside.  I  want  a  few  words  with  Miss 
Gilmore  —  beg  pardon,  Mrs.  Gardner  I  should  say." 

"But  —  first  I 'd  like  a  few  words  with  Mr.  Love 
man,"  said  Mary,  —  "alone." 

She  stepped  out  into  the  corridor  ahead  of  Love 
man,  walked  a  few  unsteady  paces,  and  turned  a 
corner.  This  corridor  was  empty.  She  halted. 

206 


MARY  REGAN 

"What  did  you  want  to  see  me  about,  Mary?" 
the  little  lawyer  asked  nervously. 

"  I  did  n't  want  to  see  you  —  I  wanted  to  get  out 
of  that  room  —  after  what  I  've  been  through." 

She  leaned  dizzily  against  the  wall,  and  breathed 
like  a  runner  at  the  end  of  a  race.  The  situation  she 
had  just  been  through  had,  indeed,  taxed  her  full 
strength;  but  her  mind  went  on  to  dangers  yet 
ahead.  That  girl  with  the  marriage  certificate  in  her 
hand  —  she  had  held  back  because  she  was  waiting 
a  better  time,  and  a  more  effective  method,  to  strike. 
And  when  she  struck,  she  would  strike  hard  —  no 
doubt  of  that !  Mary  wondered  in  what  form  of  cold 
fury  the  girl's  natural  feminine  vindictiveness  would 
express  itself. 

She  opened  her  eyes.  Peter  Loveman  was  still 
waiting  beside  her. 

"I  guess  I  did  n't  quite  get  the  situation  when  I 
broke  in  on  that  scene  awhile  ago,"  the  little  man 
began  apologetically.  "I  thought  it  was  all  up  with 
you  —  and  I  thought  I  might  as  well  save  myself 
if  I  could." 

"  I  know,"  she  said  wearily.  And  then  vigor  came 
into  her  voice  and  bearing.  "But  don't  forget  this, 
Peter  Loveman,  —  if  you  ever  try  to  cross  me  again, 
I'll  finish  you  off  with  Mr.  Morton  just  as  I  said 
—  even  though  I  finish  myself,  too!" 

"That's  never  going  to  happen,  Mary,"  the  little 
man  said  propitiatingly.  "And  remember,  Mary, 
what  I  said  to  you  this  morning  —  that  if  this 

207 


MARY  REGAN 

affair  gives  any  sign  of  going  wrong,  just  privately 
leave  your  end  of  it  with  me  —  and  after  that  let 
me  manage  you — and  there 's  nothing  I  can't  do  with 
you!  Nothing!" 

She  regarded  him  absently  —  although  the  vision 
his  words  had  created  registered  itself  in  her  sub 
conscious  mind  as  something  that  might  come  to 
pass  in  the  future.  Without  answering  him,  she 
turned  away  and  reentered  her  apartment.  Beside 
her  door  she  came  to  a  sudden  pause.  Bending  over 
her  desk  was  Mr.  Morton  intently  working  over 
something  which  she  could  not  identify.  But  the 
next  moment  she  knew.  Mr.  Morton  had  recovered 
from  the  waste-basket  her  torn  letter  and  was  fitting 
its  fragments  together. 

Instantly  she  was  across  the  room,  and  had  caught 
his  arm. »  "Mr.  Morton,  you  must  n't  do  that!"  she 
exclaimed,  reaching  swiftly  for  the  letter. 

He  easily  warded  off  her  clutching  hand.  She 
struggled  to  possess  the  fragments.  But  he  was  too 
powerful  a  man  for  her  to  contest  with  on  equal 
physical  terms,  and  she  dared  not  cry  out  —  so  after 
a  moment  she  gave  up. 

"Really,  Miss  Gilmore,  you  know,  you  can't  trust 
a  man's  curiosity  too  far,"  he  said  coolly,  though 
pleasantly;  and  holding  her  two  wrists  in  a  powerful, 
yet  gentle  grip,  he  read  the  torn  letter  through. 

He  looked  up.    His  face  was  without  expression. 

"And  so,  Miss  Gilmore  —  this  is  your  confession? " 

She  nodded. 

208 


MARY  REGAN 

"And  also  your  answer  to  my  suggestion  about 
our  little  cruise?" 

Again  she  nodded. 

"So!"  He  turned  back  to  the  ragged  mosaic  of 
heavy  note-paper,  and  slowly  he  read  aloud :  — 

"  '  I  can  no  longer  keep  my  secret  from  you.  I  am 
really  a  married  woman.  Further,  my  husband  is 
very  jealous.  He  may  be  back  any  time.  I  must  be 
most  discreet."' 

Morton  raised  his  gray  eyes  to  her ;  and  then  sud 
denly  his  strong,  worldly  face  softened  into  a  smile. 

"My  dear,  what  a  little  fool  you  are!  This  is 
nothing  to  make  such  a  fuss  about.  Your  being 
married  does  n't  necessarily  make  the  slightest  dif 
ference  to  me  —  and  I  'm  sure  the  Caribbean  winds 
will  be  just  as  soothing  —  and  that  the  moonlight 
will  be  just  as  soft.  The  yacht  will  be  ready  next 
Thursday." 

He  tried  to  slip  an  arm  about  her.  But  she  evaded 
him,  and  spoke  quietly. 

"But  my  husband  is  now  in  New  York!" 

"Oh,  the  devil!"  And  then  he  smiled  again.  "  But 
I  'm  sure  a  woman  of  your  quickness  of  mind  can 
invent  an  excuse  that  will  take  care  of  your  hus 
band.  You  can  trust  that  my  end  will  all  be  man 
aged  quietly." 

Again  she  avoided  an  attempted  embrace.    "But 
he  is  now  in  this  hotel  —  and  he  knows  I  'm  here  - 
,and  he's  so  jealous  —  " 

"The  devil!"  This  time  he  did  not  smile.   "That 
209 


MARY  REGAN 

is  some  complication !  You  certainly  do  have  to  be 
discreet!"  He  thought  quickly.  "You'd  better 
move  from  this  hotel  to  some  place  where  you  will 
not  be  so  easily  under  his  eye.  Anyhow,  I  was  going 
to  suggest  your  moving  on  account  of  Miss  Jones. 
Being  this  close  to  her,  she  might  any  time  stumble 
on  to  —  you  know,  between  you  and  Jack." 

"I'm  going  to  move  to-night,"  she  agreed,  her 
mind  all  on  how  she  was  going  to  rid  herself  of  him, 
and  yet  not  offend  him. 

"Good!  Now,  as  token  and  seal  of  our  under 
standing — "  He  bent  toward  her  with  pursed  lips. 

She  checked  him  with  the  thrust  of  a  stiffened 
arm.  "Not  now!" 

"Some  day,  then?   And  soon?" 

She  eyed  him  steadily.  "Sometime,  perhaps  — 
if  when  that  time  comes  you  still  want  to." 

He  had  no  suspicion  of  what  was  in  her  mind.  He 
smiled. 

"Oh,  I  shall  want  to!  But  don't  set  the  time  too 
far—" 

The  telephone  on  her  desk  began  to  ring.  In  relief 
at  the  interruption  she  seized  it  —  but  the  relief 
was  gone  as  she  heard  the  voice  that  came  over  the 
wire. 

"Yes,  I'm  alone,"  she  replied  into  the  mouth 
piece.  "You  may  see  me  right  away." 

"Who  was  that?"  asked  Morton  as  she  hung  up. 

"My  husband." 

"My  cue  for  a  quick  exit!  Remember,  my 
210 


MARY  REGAN 

dear"  —  he  seized  both  her  hands  —  "we're  going 
to  have  that  little  cruise  just  the  same.  I'll  give 
orders  — " 

"You  must  hurry,"  she  interrupted.  While  he 
had  been  speaking,  she  had  reached  quickly  be 
hind  her  back,  opened  a  little  drawer  and  thrust 
into  it  her  hand.  "You  must  hurry,"  she  repeated, 
and  urgently  pressed  her  hands  against  him  —  and 
while  doing  so  she  slipped  the  envelope  containing 
the  ten  one-thousand-dollar  bills  into  the  inner 
pocket  of  his  coat.  "Go,  please!  Good-bye!" 

The  next  instant  he  was  gone.  Mary  sank  into 
a  chair  beside  her  window.  She  had  won  thus  far 
through  her  wit  and  her  will ;  but  wit  and  will  would 
serve  her  no  further;  she  was  spent  —  utterly  spent. 
What  was  her  culminating  scene,  the  scene  that 
would  end  her,  lay  just  before  her,  and  for  it  she  had 
neither  strength  nor  subterfuge  nor  courage.  She 
had  fought,  through  sheer  force  of  habit,  to  the 
end  —  and  at  the  end,  which  was  only  a  moment 
ahead,  she  had  lost.  So  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 
limp,  her  eyes  closed.  .  .  . 

But  spent  as  she  was  she  was  sufficiently  alive 
for  her  curiosity  to  respond  to  a  matter  that  again 
recurred  to  her.  Clifford  had  known  of  her  where 
abouts,  possibly  of  her  purpose.  Why  had  he  not 
interfered?  .  .  .  Why?  .  .  . 

A  minute  or  two  passed;  then  she  became  aware 
that  some  one  had  entered  and  had  crossed  to  her 
side.  She  slowly  opened  her  eyes,  and  wearily  arose, 

211 


MARY  REGAN 

and  regarded  Maisie  Jones  dully,  indifferent  to  de 
nunciation  or  threats  or  furious  acts. 

"You  telephoned  you  wished  to  see  me,"  she  said. 

Maisie,  very  rigid  and  still  gray  of  face,  did  not 
at  once  speak. 

"Well?"  prompted  Mary. 

"I  came  to  tell  you  what  I  intend  to  do,"  said 
the  other,  and  stopped. 

"Go  on.  I  know  just  about  how  you  feel,  and  I 
guess  I  'd  do  about  the  same.  I  'm  prepared,  so  don't 
try  to  break  it  easy  to  me." 

"Of  course,"  said  the  girl,  —  and  there  was  a 
catch  in  her  voice,  —  "of  course  you  know  that  I 
love  Jack." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Mary. 

"I  love  him  so  well,"  continued  the  girl,  "that  I 
don't  want  to  do  anything  to  hurt  him."  -She  swal 
lowed,  then  drove  herself  on,  her  blue  eyes  gazing 
straight  into  Mary's  dark  ones.  "I'm  going  to  be 
honest.  I'm  not  doing  this  because  it's  easy;  nor 
because  I  like  you  —  I  can't  do  that  yet.  I  'm  doing 
it  for  —  for  Jack." 

"Doing  what?"  breathed  Mary,  suddenly  be 
wildered. 

"I'm  doing  it  because  I  see  you  can  be  more  to 
Jack  than  I  can  ever  be,"  the  girl  went  on.  "You  're 
the  sort  of  woman  that  can  make  a  man  —  you 
proved  that  when  you  made  Jack  steady  down  and 
go  to  work.  I  could  never  have  done  that  for  Jack." 

Mary  could  only  stare. 

212 


MARY  REGAN 

"And  I  think  it  was  big  of  you,"  the  voice  went 
on,  now  a  choked  and  awed  voice,  "to  try  to  save 
Jack  by  sacrificing  yourself  —  by  being  willing  to 
acknowledge  yourself  his  —  his  mistress,  and  accept 
that  humiliation,  in  order  to  protect  him.  I  could 
never  have  done  that  either." 

Still  Mary,  sure  manager  of  her  destiny,  could  not 
speak  —  could  only  stare  at  the  white  face  which 
had  begun  to  work. 

"  I  shall  return  to  Chicago  to-night,"  the  girl  went 
on.  "  In  a  week  or  two  I  shall  make  my  aunt  write 
Jack's  father,  giving  no  reason,  stating  I  no  longer 
care  for  Jack  and  wish  everything  broken  off.  And 
I  shall  write,  confirming  this.  That  will  put  me  out 
of  the  way  —  I  '11  no  longer  be  a  source  of  danger  to 
you  and  Jack.  I  guess  that's  all.  Good-bye." 

She  thrust  the  marriage  certificate  into  Mary's 
hands  and  turned  and  started  rapidly  out.  Then  she 
abruptly  turned  and  came  back;  and  she  gripped 
Mary's  hands,  and  her  blue  eyes  were  flooding. 

"I  can't  like  you  —  yet.  But  I'm  not  going  to 
let  myself  be  mean  about  this,"  she  said  huskily,  in 
awe  and  humility.  "I  wish  I  were  as  fine  as  you 
are!  You  are  wonderful  —  wonderful!" 

Suddenly  she  leaned  forward  and  kissed  Mary's 
cheek;  and  then,  this  time,  she  was  gone. 

Mary  gazed  after  her  with  wide  eyes,  then  sank 
limply  into  a  chair.  She  had  won  —  for  the  time 
being;  but  that  she  had  won  did  not  at  this  moment 
even  touch  her  thoughts;  nor  just  then  was  her  mind 

213 


MARY  REGAN 

trying  to  justify  her  by  saying  that  Maisie,  as  now 
she  saw  her,  was  too  good  for  Jack,  and  that  her  own 
action,  whatever  its  motives,  had  saved  Maisie  from 
a  life  of  certain  unhappiness.  Just  then  she  was 
dazed  by  the  uncalculated  twist  of  the  girl's  action; 
unsuspected,  unanalyzable  things  were  tumultu- 
ously  stirring,  quickened  into  life  by  that  swift,  tear- 
wet  kiss  which  still  thrilled  her  cheek  —  by  the  fer 
vid  declaration  that  she  was  fine  and  wonderful. 
That  girl,  tears  in  her  eyes,  had  called  her  fine  and 
wonderful!  .  .  . 

She  seemed,  with  all  those  sudden  strange  things 
surging  within  her,  to  be  sitting  there  a  woman  un 
known  to  herself.  And  then  out  of  this  chaos,  there 
rose  a  clear-cut,  definite  sentence,  that  remained 
fixed  before  her  mind  —  a  sentence  of  Clifford's, 
spoken  with  impersonal  grimness:  "There  is  a  big 
woman  in  you  —  but  if  you  are  to  be  changed,  only 
Life  can  do  it."  .  .  .  Was  this  what  it  meant,  that 
chaos  within  her?  After  all,  had  Clifford  been  right? 
Was  Life  doing  something  to  her? 

Bewildered,  breathless,  almost  fearfully,  she  sat 
regarding  this  strange,  unknown  woman  stirring 
within  herself. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MARY  THINKS  THINGS  OUT 

MARY  awoke  with  a  start  to  certain  practical  and 
immediate  dangers  of  her  situation.  Mr.  Morton 
knew  she  was  here  at  the  Grantham,  and  so  did 
Peter  Loveman;  whatever  she  might  do  in  the  end, 
she  had  a  desire  to  avoid  both  of  these  men  for  the 
present  —  at  least  until  she  had  determined  upon 
her  course.  There  was  but  one  way  to  escape  them, 
and  that  was  to  disappear  from  the  Grantham  before 
either  of  the  pair  had  time  to  return  upon  their  dif 
ferent  enterprises. 

Within  an  hour  she  and  her  baggage  were  at  an 
other  hotel.  Within  a  second  hour  she  was  being 
shown  about  by  a  representative  of  a  renting  agency. 
That  same  evening  she  was  installed  in  a  little  fur 
nished  apartment  in  the  Nineties  just  west  of  Cen 
tral  Park.  The  better  to  protect  her  privacy  she 
decided  she  would  do  her  own  housework  and  would 
go  out  rarely  except  in  the  evening. 

Here  her  mind  began  once  more  to  review  her  situ 
ation  —  as  it  was  to  keep  on  doing  for  many  a  long 
day  to  come.  She  had  won,  by  an  unbelievable  twist 
of  human  nature.  Yet  she  had  not  won;  she  was, 
as  she  now  perceived,  only  at  the  beginning  of  an 
enterprise  that  was  hourly  becoming  more  complex 

215 


MARY  REGAN 

and  difficult  —  and  that  was  also  leading  into  what 
for  her  were  undiscovered  and  uncomfortable  areas 
of  the  human  soul. 

To  be  sure,  for  the  immediate  present  at  least,  she 
had  apparently  averted  the  danger  of  the  discovery 
of  her  secret  marriage  to  Jack  Morton.  But  the  dan 
ger  of  that  discovery  would  keep  on  recurring  —  at 
least  until  she  had  finally  won  out.  And  there  was 
the  ever-present  danger  that  her  husband,  and  her 
husband's  father,  might  somehow  learn  who  Mary 
Regan  was  and  had  been.  And  there  was  the  elder 
Morton,  eager  in  his  amorous  suit.  And  there  was 
Peter  Loveman,  who  might  any  time,  to  serve  his 
own  ends,  proceed  swiftly  upon  some  course  that 
would  mean  disaster  for  her. 

And  then,  there  were  those  queer  feelings  which 
had  been  stirring  in  her  since  Maisie  Jones,  a  choke 
in  her  voice,  had  called  her  fine !  —  wonderful !  - 
and  since  Maisie,  loving  Jack,  had  declared  Mary 
had  proved  that  she  would  make  far  the  better  wife 
for  Jack.  Mary  did  not  understand  these  strange 
emotions.  She  did  not  like  them,  and  she  tried  to 
force  them  out  of  her  being.  But  despite  this  ef 
fort  there  were  fear-stricken  moments  when,  with 
all  her  dangers,  she  felt  that  she  could  not  even  count 
upon  herself. 

The  next  morning  she  called  up  Jack,  telling  him 
where  she  was.  He  could  telephone  her  as  often  as 
he  liked,  she  told  him,  if  he  would  be  careful  to 
speak  only  when  he  was  alone.  But  she  forbade 

216 


MARY  REGAN 

him  coming  to  see  her;  that  would  be  unsafe,  as 
he  might  be  followed.  Jack  protested  against  this 
order,  but  she  was  firm,  and  at  length  he  gave  his 
promise. 

As  the  days  passed,  days  when  she  had  no  com 
pany  except  her  own  thoughts  and  Jack's  telephone 
messages,  she  reasoned  herself  out  of  the  influence 
of  those  strange  feelings  begotten  by  the  behavior 
and  the  words  of  Maisie  Jones  (at  least  she  believed 
she  did),  and  she  reached  a  clearer  conception  of  her 
self  (or  believed  she  did)  and  of  what  must  be  her 
future  procedure.  And  the  way  she  saw  herself,  her 
plans,  her  motives,  was  anything  but  unfavorable. 
She  was  just  like  most  other  women.  She  wanted  po 
sition,  yes  —  she  wanted  money,  yes ;  and  she  was 
getting  them  in  exactly  the  same  way  that  the  most 
proper  and  honored  women  were  winning  them,  by 
playing  her  cards  as  a  woman.  As  for  what  she  was 
hiding  —  well,  was  n't  all  the  world  hiding  some 
thing?  She  was  merely  doing  what  all  were  doing. 

She  came  to  see  herself  —  despite  the  methods  by 
which  she  would  attain  her  end  —  as  making  a 
figure  as  a  wife  that  Jack  would  be  proud  of  before 
the  world.  As  Jack's  wife  she  was  going  to  give  him 
her  best.  No  man's  wife  was  going  to  be  better- 
gowned  or  of  more  distinguished  appearance,  and 
no  wife  could  do  more  than  she,  with  the  will  and 
the  brains  which  she  knew  she  had,  to  hold  her  hus 
band  up  to  the  standards  expected  of  a  man  of  large 
affairs.  Later,  after  she  had  made  Jack  into  a  real 

217 


MARY  REGAN 

man,  and  through  that  service  had  somehow  man 
aged  to  get  Jack's  father  reconciled,  and  after  she 
had  thoroughly  established  herself  with  them  and 
as  a  noteworthy  figure  in  their  circle  —  later  she 
would  tell  them  just  who  she  was  and  what  she  had 
been,  and  by  that  time  Mr.  Morton  would  recog 
nize  that  she  was  the  one  woman  in  the  world  who 
could  have  brought,  and  could  still  hold,  Jack  to 
such  a  position  of  worldly  success. 

Thus  she  thought,  as  the  lonely  days  went  by.  But 
as  more  and  more  she  saw  Jack  as  the  foundation 
of  her  plan,  so  more  and  more  did  she  see  him  in  an 
other  possible  aspect.  This  second  possibility  grew 
to  be  her  chief  concern. 

All  this  while  her  mind  had  been  reverting  again 
and  again  to  Clifford.  After  a  time  Clifford  and  her 
dominating  concern  began  to  be  linked  together. 
At  length  there  came  a  day  when,  obeying  an  im 
pulse,  she  called  Clifford  up. 

Within  an  hour  she  was  opening  her  door  to  him. 
Silently  she  led  the  way  across  the  dingy,  chintz- 
furnished  sitting-room,  and  with  a  rather  stiff  for 
mality  the  pair  seated  themselves. 

"You  sent  for  me,"  Clifford  began,  quietly 
enough. 

"Yes.    I  want  you  to  help  me." 

"Would  you  mind  explaining?" 

Already  she  had  taken  on  that  cool,  defiant,  chal 
lenging  manner  which  seemed  instinctive  with  her 
in  all  her  dealings  with  him.  "You  helped  get  me 

218 


MARY  REGAN 

into  my  marriage  with  Jack  Morton.  You  said  that 
experience  was  the  only  thing  which  could  make  me 
over  —  and  that  this  marriage  might  prove  to  be 
the  best  possible  experience  by  which  Life  could 
change  me.  Remember  that?" 

"I  did  say  something  to  that  effect,"  he  replied 
quietly,  watching  her  and  still  wondering. 

"Well,  I  am  not  going  to  be  changed;  I  have 
told  you  that.  But  I  have  accepted  your  challenge, 
and  I  '11  play  the  thing  through  to  the  finish.  But 
you  are  partly  responsible  for  my  position.  That's 
why  I  have  the  right  to  ask  you  to  help  me." 

He  stared.  Only  one  so  essentially  defiant  in 
spirit,  so  audaciously  self-confident,  could  be  say 
ing  such  things  so  quietly. 

"You  want  me  to  lose  out,"  she  went  on,  "but 
even  so,  I  know  you  '11  help  me  if  you  promise  to  do 
so.  I'll  admit  that  there  is  no  other  person  I  can 
call  on  who  can  really  help  me." 

"Help  you?  How?" 

"With  Jack." 

He  was  accustomed  to  her  calm  audacity.  But 
none  the  less  he  was  for  the  moment  taken  aback 
by  her  request  —  that  he,  a  rejected  suitor,  should 
be  so  coolly  called  in  to  assist  with  the  husband. 

He  recovered  his  speech.  "Before  I  answer  that, 
perhaps  you  will  tell  me  something." 

"What?" 

"Something  that  has  a  bearing  upon  your  plan 
with  Jack.  Excuse  my  curiosity  —  but  perhaps  you 

219 


MARY  REGAN 

will  tell  me  just  what  was  the  outcome  of  your  affair 
with  Maisie  Jones?" 

She  was  no  less  curious  than  he  in  regard  to  one 
point  in  that  experience  —  why  he  had  refrained 
from  action  at  the  Grantham.  She  had  been  won 
dering  about  this,  over  and  over,  all  these  days. 

"You  know  about  that?"  Her  words  were  as 
much  an  affirmation  as  a  question. 

"  I  have  had  to  know  about  it,"  he  said.  "  I  knew 
of  Jack's  engagement  and  its  pressing  character,  and 
when  you  went  to  the  Grantham  and  took  the  suite 
next  to  Miss  Jones,  I  surmised,  with  the  help  of  a 
few  facts,  the  general  nature  of  your  purpose  there." 

"Then  if  you  knew,  why  did  n't  you  interfere?" 

"When  I  surmised  what  your  plan  was,  I  felt  it 
was  no  affair  of  mine.  I  was  close  at  hand,  but  I 
kept  myself  in  the  background.  I  felt  that  it  was 
your  game,  for  you  to  play  out  alone." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath.  So  that  was  his  reason ! 
—  he  had  given  her  her  leash,  he  was  letting  her  run 
free.  Though  watching  her,  he  was,  as  he  had  said 
before,  leaving  it  to  experience  to  make  of  her  what 
it  would. 

She  recalled  his  initial  inquiry.  "The  affair 
ended,"  she  said  briefly,  "by  my  being  forced  to 
tell  Maisie  Jones,  in  confidence,  that  I  was  secretly 
married  to  Jack." 

"And  Maisie  Jones?   I  know  she  loved  Jack." 

"She  promised  not  to  tell,  or  interfere." 

"Is  that  all?  And  if  so,  why?" 
220 


MARY  REGAN 

"She  seemed  to  think  —  I  did  not  try  to  deceive 
her;  she  deceived  herself  —  she  seemed  to  think  I 
would  make  Jack  a  better  wife  than  she  would.  And 
she  said  that,  so  Jack  would  n't  get  into  trouble 
with  his  father  about  the  engagement,  she  would 
have  a  letter  written  to  Mr.  Morton  breaking  the 
engagement  off  because  she  did  not  love  Jack." 

" Is  that  all?" 

She  met  his  gaze  with  composure,  showing  nothing 
of  the  strange  and  persisting  emotion  Maisie  Jones 
had  awakened  in  her.  "That  is  all." 

"Thank  you."  He  did  not  pursue  his  inquiry, 
though  his  eyes  regarded  her  keenly.  "To  come 
back  to  your  request  that  I  help  you  with  Jack. 
Whether  I  help  you  depends  upon  what  you  intend 
doing.  First,  how  do  you  happen  to  be  here?" 

Her  answer  was  prompt  and  direct.  ' '  After  all  that 
has  happened,  it  seemed  safest  and  wisest  for  me  to 
disappear.  Too  many  persons  were  becoming  mixed 
up  in  my  affairs —  I  wanted  to  be  free  from  them." 

"How  about  Jack?  Is  he  also  in  the  dark  as  to 
where  you  are?" 

"Jack  knows.    But  I  do  not  dare  see  him." 

"And  these  are  the  only  reasons  you  disappeared 
so  suddenly  from  the  Grantham?" 

"The  only  reasons,"  she  returned  steadily.  But 
consciously  or  unconsciously  Mary  here  withheld 
part  of  the  truth.  There  was  something  else:  the 
unadmitted  influence  which  the  action  of  Maisie 
Jones  had  had  upon  her. 

221 


MARY  REGAN 

"Next,  if  I  am  to  help  you,"  continued  Clifford, 
"what  are  your  general  plans  for  the  future?  You 
don't  mind  telling?" 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you  everything."  And  she 
went  on  to  tell  him  those  things  which  she  had 
thought  out  more  definitely  during  her  solitary 
days.  "My  general  plans  are  what  they  have  been 
since  I  married.  My  main  purpose  at  present  is 
to  keep  Jack  going  straight  —  until  through  my 
influence  he  shall  have  become  established  as  a 
responsible  business  man;  this  I  expect  to  be  an 
achievement  for  which  I  shall  secure  acknowledg 
ment  and  which  will  win  Mr.  Morton's  favor.  And 
then,  a  little  later,  after  I  have  established  myself 
with  them,  and  have  been  openly  before  the  public 
as  Jack's  wife,  I  shall  tell  them  just  who  I  am  and 
what  I  have  done." 

"And  having  done  that,  what  do  you  think  will 
happen?" 

"I  shall  have  proved  to  them  that  I  am  the  one 
person  who  can  hold  Jack  to  the  job  of  being  a  man; 
and  I  shall  have  proved  to  them  that,  despite  my 
being  Mary  Regan,  I  can  make  a  figure  as  a  woman 
that  Jack  and  his  father  will  be  proud  of  before  the 
world.  That  is  my  plan." 

The  calculating  world  liness  of  her  frank  scheme 
was  amazing.  Here  was  the  strangest  part  of  their 
recent  relationship  —  she  had  made  it  a  point  always 
to  show  him  her  most  worldly  side. 

"  I  see,"  said  Clifford.   "  But  there  are  a  few  diffi- 

222 


MARY  REGAN 

culties.  How  about  the  older  Morton  and  his  urgent 
invitation  to  a  cruise  for  two  passengers  among  the 
West  Indies?" 

"So  long  as  I  can  keep  in  hiding,  that's  not  a 
pressing  problem.  And  if  somehow  he  learns  where 
I  am,  I  shall  be  evasive;  I  can  manage  that." 

"And  Peter  Loveman,  if  he  finds  you  are  here?" 

"I  can  handle  Peter  Loveman,"  she  replied  con 
fidently;  and  then  added:  "Not  long  ago  he  wanted 
me  to  give  up  my  plan  concerning  Jack.  In  fact  he 
threatened  me." 

"Why?"  Clifford  asked  quickly. 

"He  said  I  could  not  possibly  succeed.  Also  there 
was  something  else  he  wanted  me  to  do." 

"And  you  replied  to  him?" 

"I  told  him  I  was  going  straight  ahead.  And  I 
showed  him  that  I  was  stronger  than  he  was.  He 
then  suddenly  became  pleasant  again,  said  his  threat 
had  been  only  a  joke.  If  I  called  the  turn  on  him 
once,  I  guess  I  can  call  it  again  if  necessary." 

Clifford  made  mental  note  of  this  threat.  "Let's 
come  back  to  Jack.  Would  you  mind  being  more 
explicit  why,  and  in  what  way,  you  want  me  to 
help?" 

"All  my  chances  of  success  are  based  upon  mak 
ing  a  man  of  Jack.  As  matters  now  stand,  it  would 
ruin  everything  if  I  were  to  see  him  often.  Jack  is 
very  susceptible  to  the  influence  of  the  people  imme 
diately  around  him  —  and  if  I  dare  not  see  him,  how 
can  I  influence  him?  That  is  my  supreme  difficulty." 

223 


MARY  REGAN 

"  I  see,"  said  Clifford. 

"Just  there  is  where  I  want  you  to  help  me.  Jack 
likes  you.  I  want  you  to  see  a  lot  of  him  —  help 
keep  him  working  —  help  keep  him  straight." 

Clifford  stared  at  her.  Her  calm  audacity  was 
almost  unbelievable  —  and  yet  it  was  just  like  Mary 
Regan. 

"  I'll  help  you,"  he  said  after  a  moment.  "Is  there 
any  special  source  of  danger  you  fear?" 

"Only  the  general  situation.  Everything  depends 
on  Jack's  being  a  man.  Just  now  I  can't  help  him 
much ;  and  Jack  —  you  understand  —  is  likely  to  go 
in  the  direction  of  the  person  who  is  nearest  him." 

"I'll  do  what  I  can,"  said  Clifford. 

Then,  for  the  first  time  since  his  entrance,  she 
showed  emotion.  Impulsively  she  thrust  out  her 
hand  and  clasped  his. 

"Thank  you!"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XX 
CLIFFORD'S  NEW  ASSIGNMENT 

WHEN  Clifford  left  her,  though  still  amazed  at  the 
task  she  had  set  him,  he  was  more  occupied  with  a 
new  possibility  —  Life  worked  so  strangely !  —  that 
had  come  upon  him  during  their  talk.  Had  Mary, 
through  her  scheming  to  achieve  worldly  place  and 
fortune  by  means  of  Jack,  come  by  slow  degrees  and 
perhaps  unknown  to  herself  to  have  a  real  respon 
sibility  toward  Jack?  And  if  so,  how  would  she  react 
under  that  responsibility  if  ever  a  crisis  should  arise? 

At  once  Clifford  began  work  upon  this  strange 
assignment.  And  at  once  this  assignment,  strange 
as  it  was  to  start  with,  took  on  an  even  stranger 
twist  —  though  this  new  turn  was  not  at  once 
definitely  apparent. 

Clifford  was  curious  concerning  Jack  in  his  new 
r61e  as  a  business  man ;  and  half  an  hour  after  leaving 
Mary  he  was  shown  into  an  office  in  a  large  suite 
down  in  the  financial  district.  Jack  sprung  up  eagerly 
from  a  littered  desk. 

"Hello,  Bob!  Say,  this  is  great,  your  dropping 
in  on  me  like  this  —  a  regular  relief  expedition  to 
a  strayed  North-Pole-hunting  outfit!  Only,  as  a 
financier,  I'm  no  Commodore  Peary;  I'm  in  the 
Dr.  Cook  class.". 

225 


MARY  REGAN 

Clifford  returned  the  smile  of  the  pleasant,  almost 
boyish  face.  "How  goes  the  work,  Jack?" 

The  young  fellow  made  a  grimace  at  the  papers  on 
his  desk.  "They've  turned  over  a  one-cylinder  min 
ing  proposition  to  me  to  handle.  Oh,  ye  gods! 
Bob  —  has  science  yet  discovered  an  anti-toxin  for 
work?" 

"Then  you're  getting  tired  of  it?"  Clifford  asked, 
studying  him  keenly. 

"Tired,  you  bet!  —  and  also  tangled.  But  I'm 
going  to  stick  it  out."  He  lowered  his  voice:  "You 
know,  it's  all  Mary's  doing,  my  starting  to  toil  in 
this  old  foundry.  She  said  I  had  to  make  good  — 
and  you  can  just  bet  I  am  going  to  make  good!" 

Clifford  nodded.  "It's  great  stuff;  hang  on  with 
all  your  teeth.  But  you  can't  be  on  the  job  all  the 
time.  Suppose  we  have  dinner  together  this  evening 
and  then  see  a  show?" 

"Sorry,  Bob,  but  I'm  dated  up  with  dad  to 
night.  If  you  '11  make  it  to-morrow  evening,  though, 
you're  on." 

"All  right.  Say  we  meet  at  seven  in  the  Gold 
Room  at  the  Grantham." 

It  was  so  agreed.  Clifford  left  Jack  with  one 
dominant  impression :  at  least  this  phase  of  Mary's 
scheme  was  visibly  succeeding  —  Jack,  whom  no 
one  had  ever  been  able  to  get  to  go  to  work  before, 
seemed  tightly  anchored  to  his  job. 

The  next  evening  Clifford  was  at  a  table  in  the 
Grantham  at  seven.  He  waited  until  eight  —  un- 

226 


MARY  REGAN 

troubled  —  but  Jack  did  not  appear  and  no  message 
came  from  him.  It  puzzled  him  somewhat,  but  pro 
voked  him  more.  But,  remembering  his  promise  to 
Mary,  he  swallowed  his  resentment  and  the  next 
afternoon  he  called  Jack  up  at  the  Morton  offices. 
He  was  informed  that  Jack  had  not  come  down  at 
all  the  day  previous,  nor  had  he  appeared  this 
day. 

Clifford  began  to  think.  That  same  afternoon,  at 
six-thirty,  which  he  had  learned  was  the  elder  Mor 
ton's  cocktail-time,  he  wandered  into  the  lounge  of 
the  Biltmore  bar.  Here  he  found  Mr.  Morton,  and 
casually  he  inquired  for  Jack. 

"I  was  afraid  the  boy  would  n't  stick,"  said  the 
handsome,  middle-aged  man  of  the  world,  "and 
now  I  've  had  proof  of  it.  Here 's  a  telegram  I  re 
ceived  from  him  this  afternoon,  filed  on  board  the 
Canadian  Express,  saying  he'd  suddenly  decided 
to  run  away  for  a  bit  of  shooting.  Just  like  him,  to 
disappear  without  a  word's  notice." 

Clifford  read  the  telegram,  and  returned  it  to  the 
Western  financier;  and  after  a  few  commonplace  re 
marks  he  walked  away  with  a  casual  air.  But  within 
his  calm  exterior  he  was  seething  with  suspicions, 
ideas,  questions.  He  dropped  into  a  chair  in  the 
wide  corridor,  and  eyes  fixed  on  an  evening  paper,  he 
rapidly  studied  this  new  situation.  That  telegram 
was  a  fake.  Jack  Morton,  however  irresponsible, 
would  never  so  behave  while  he  felt  as  he  did  toward 
Mary  Regan.  Jack  Morton  had  disappeared,  and 

227 


MARY  REGAN 

some  will  other  than  his  own  had  controlled  his 
disappearance. 

Who  had  brought  about  this  disappearance?  If 
there  was  a  plot  here,  just  what  was  the  plot?  —  and 
what  its  purpose?  Was  Jack  himself  the  victim 
primarily  aimed  at?  —  his  father?  —  Mary?  —  some 
other  person? 

Into  his  mind  there  flashed  something  Mary  had 
spoken  of:  that  menacing  demand  of  Peter  Love- 
man,  coupled  with  Loveman's  jovial  declaration  that 
his  threat  had  been  only  a  joke.  Was  that  shrewd, 
far-scheming  lawyer  behind  the  disappearance  of 
Jack?  And  if  so,  what  was  his  ultimate  object?  — 
what  was  his  present  plan? 

A  new  idea  occurred  to  Clifford.  A  minute  later 
he  was  in  a  telephone  booth  talking  to  Mary. 

"What  have  you  heard  from  Jack  since  I  saw 
you?" 

"Not  a  word."  There  was  concern  in  her  voice. 
"He  always  telephones  me  two  or  three  times  a  day." 

"And  you've  had  no  telegram?" 

"No." 

"There's  nothing  to  worry  about,"  —  and  Clif 
ford  told  her  of  the  telegram  Jack's  father  had  re 
ceived. 

"But  why  shouldn't  he  have  telegraphed  me, 
too?"  she  demanded. 

"You  know  Jack  is  inclined  to  be  careless,  even 
with  the  people  he  likes  best,"  he  assured  her.  He 
gave  her  no  hint  of  his  suspicions;  already  it  was 

228 


MARY  REGAN 

part  of  his  vaguely  forming  counter-plan  that  Mary 
must  be  kept  from  guessing  what  he  suspected. 

He  hung  up  and  returned  to  his  chair.  He  had 
picked  up  one  point  —  perhaps.  The  fact  that  Mary 
had  received  no  telegram,  did  it  not  signify  that  the 
person  behind  the  scheme,  whoever  the  person  was, 
while  wishing  to  reassure  Mr.  Morton,  desired  to  dis 
turb  Mary?  Might  it  not  be  an  essential  part  of  the 
scheme  that  Mary  should  be  disturbed?  It  seemed 
possible. 

Sitting  there  in  the  corridor,  Clifford  had  still 
another  idea  —  and  during  the  days  that  followed 
it  became  the  backbone  of  his  plan.  Here  was  mys 
tery  enough:  the  sudden  disappearance  of  Jack  in  a 
manner  so  in  keeping  with  his  known  character  as 
to  cause  no  public  commotion.  But  he  now  saw  this 
case  as  a  double  case.  He  was  going  to  try  to  clear 
up  Jack's  disappearance,  yes;  but  though  profes 
sionally  the  solution  of  that  disappearance  was  his 
chief  interest,  as  a  man  he  was  more  interested  in 
Mary  Regan  —  for  though  he  knew  her  so  well,  she 
was  to  him  still  the  supreme  mystery.  He  was  go 
ing  to  do  all  he  could  do,  yes ;  but  he  decided  that  he 
was  going  to  keep  himself  in  the  background  of  this 
new  development  of  affairs,  and  direct  the  action, 
or  leave  it  to  its  own  direction,  so  that  whatever  sit 
uation  arose,  Mary  would  have  to  face  it  squarely 
and  alone.  He  was  going  to  force  a  show-down  of 
Mary's  real  nature  —  to  make  Life  test  her.  That 
was  his  second,  and  dominant,  task. 

229 


MARY  REGAN 

The  search  for  Jack  Morton  was  the  foundation 
for  this  second  task,  and  Clifford  sensed  Loveman 
to  be  his  best  lead.  That  night,  with  all  the  appear 
ance  of  merely  killing  time,  Clifford  sat  at  a  little 
table  in  the  Gold  Room  at  the  Grantham.  But  while 
he  dawdled,  he  slipped  an  occasional  glance  across 
the  big  glittering  room  at  the  small  round  table 
known  as  "Mr.  Loveman's  table."  The  table  was 
as  yet  empty:  Clifford  did  not  wonder  at  this  —  the 
hour  was  only  eleven,  this  was  the  opening  of  a  new 
play,  and  Loveman  was  an  habitual  first-nighter. 

Presently  a  hand  fell  on  Clifford's  shoulder. 
"Hello,  Bob,  —  what's  wrong  with  the  world?" 

Clifford  looked  up.  Beside  him  was  the  plump, 
smartly  dressed  person  of  Peter  Loveman,  smiling 
amiably. 

"Nothing  much  is  wrong,  Loveman,  —  except 
most  of  my  war-babies  have  whooping-cough." 

"Buck  up,  old  scout,  and  come  over  to  my  table, 
and  let  me  buy  you  some  bubble-water." 

"Can't,  thank  you.  I'm  waiting  for  a  party." 
And  then  Clifford,  with  seeming  carelessness,  but 
watching  Loveman  all  the  while,  played  a  bold  card : 
"What  d'  you  think  —  I  was  to  have  had  supper 
here  with  Jack  Morton.  And  I  just  learned  from  his 
father  that  the  young  scamp  has  gone  to  Canada  on 
a  shooting  trip." 

Loveman  showed  a  mild  surprise;  in  him  the 
stage  had  lost  an  admirable  actor.  "You  don't  say! 
I  had  n't  heard  that." 

230 


"His  father  showed  me  Jack's  telegram.  Jack 
might  at  least  have  sent  me  word  before  this,"  said 
Clifford. 

"Just  like  Jack:  a  good  fellow,  but  you  can't  count 
on  him."  Loveman's  voice  lowered.  "I  wonder  if 
our  common  friend,  Mary  Regan,  has  heard  anything 
from  him." 

"Not  unless  he  thinks  a  lot  more  of  her  than  he 
does  of  me,"  Clifford  grumbled. 

"Queer  situation  there,  isn't  it?"  mused  Love- 
man.  "Would  n't  be  surprised  if  he  had  treated  her 
the  same  as  he  has  you."  The  lawyer's  tone  became 
humorously  lugubrious.  "Well,  we  all  have  our 
troubles.  Here's  that  little  Nina  Cordova.  After 
I've  said  a  fond,  swift,  and  eternal  farewell  to 
twenty  thousand  dollars  backing  her  in  that  awful 
frost  'Orange  Blossoms'  —  honest,  a  guinea-hen 
that  'd  half-swallowed  an  open  safety-pin  would  pull 
out  its  hair  and  eat  bichloride  if  it  had  a  voice  like 
Nina's  —  here 's  Nina  begging  me  to  back  her  in  a 
new  piece  that 's  a  crippled  and  half-witted  twin  to 
'Orange  Blossoms.'  Can  you  beat  it!  And  yet  I  sup 
pose  I  '11  come  across.  That's  just  the  sort  of  sucker 
game  I  always  fall  for." 

With  a  gesture  of  mock  despair,  the  little  lawyer 
—  true  lover  of  the  best  in  music  and  the  arts,  and 
patron  of  the  worst  —  crossed  to  his  table.  Clifford 
knew  that  Loveman,  as  well  as  himself,  had  been 
fencing.  He  wondered  whether  he  had  made  Love 
man  believe  that  he  believed  in  Jack's  northern  trip, 

231 


MARY  REGAN 

and  that  he  was  unconcerned  about  Jack  and  Mary. 
He  thought  he  had. 

Clifford,  alert  for  every  possible  clue,  managed  to 
keep  an  eye  on  Loveman's  table.  Presently  he  saw 
a  lithe,  handsome  young  man  in  close  conversation 
with  Loveman.  It  was  Hilton,  whom  from  a  previous 
experience  he  knew  to  be  a  suave  adventurer  in  this 
brilliant  border-world  wherein  smart  fashion  and 
glossed  scoundrelism  mix  in  easy  fellowship.  So  then 
Hilton  and  Loveman,  for  mutual  advantage,  had 
adjusted  the  financial  contretemps  which  had  risen 
when  their  plans  had  crossed  that  afternoon  at  the 
Mordona.  This  undoubtedly  meant  that  something 
was  brewing.  Clifford  would  have  given  his  balance 
.at  the  bank  and  all  he  could  have  borrowed  there, 
to  have  known  the  exact  substance  of  their  talk. 

After  a  few  minutes  Hilton  nodded  as  if  some 
point  had  been  settled,  and  with  the  grace  of  the 
professional  dancer,  crossed  the  great  room  and 
went  out.  Clifford's  first  impulse  was  to  follow  him, 
but  he  thought  better  of  it  and  kept  his  place.  He 
had  his  recompense,  for  a  little  later  the  dainty  Nina 
Cordova  entered  with  an  escort.  Soon,  as  if  by  the 
ordinary  drifting  of  after-midnight  merry-makers, 
she,  too,  was  conversing  with  Peter  Loveman. 

Again  Clifford  would  have  been  glad  to  trade  his 
cash  and  credit  that  he  might  hear.  He  knew  that 
this  girlish-looking  creature  had  been  privately  fitted 
into  more  than  one  of  Loveman's  adroit  plans  of 
this  pleasure  world;  and  he  remembered,  too,  that 

232 


MARY  REGAN 

less  than  a  year  before  there  had  been  the  beginning 
of  an  affair  between  Jack  and  Nina  —  that  she, 
with  fame  glittering  before  her  excited  vision,  had 
dropped  Jack  for  what  she  always  spoke  of  as  "her 
art";  and  he  guessed  that  now,  having  been  pushed 
by  managerial  enterprise  beyond  her  meager  merits 
as  a  singer  in  musical  comedy,  and  having  toppled 
ingloriously  from  her  lofty  dreams,  she  might  have 
quite  other  plans. 

If  there  was  a  plot,  could  Nina  be  in  it?  And  if  she 
was  in  it,  what  was  her  part?  And  if  Hilton  was  in  it, 
what  was  that  gentleman's  role? 

Nina  and  Loveman  went  off  together  toward  three 
o'clock.  Clifford,  alive  with  suspicion,  followed  in  a 
taxi  —  only  to  see  Nina  set  down  at  her  hotel,  and 
see  Loveman  drive  straight  to  his  apartment  house 
and  enter.  Clifford  watched  the  windows  of  the 
lawyer's  studio  apartment,  wondering  if  any  person 
had  been  waiting  within  to  consult  with  Loveman ; 
but  promptly  at  four  o'clock  —  Loveman's  regular 
hour  for  going  to  bed  —  the  studio  windows  dark 
ened. 

Clifford  had  learned  nothing  that  was  definite. 
But  he  had  the  sense,  the  result  of  long  experience, 
that  he  was  on  the  trail  of  the  parties  chiefly  con 
cerned,  and  that  he  was  close  upon  something  big  — 
though  that  something  was  provokingly  intangible 
and  elusive. 

There  was  but  one  way  to  handle  so  obscure  a 
situation :  that  was  by  an  intensive  study  of  every 

233 


MARY  REGAN 

possibility,  and  the  next  day  Clifford  began  upon 
this  slow,  cautious  programme.  Loveman's  telephone 
wires  had  already  been  tapped  by  the  Police  Depart 
ment.  Clifford  now  took  the  vacant  apartment  above 
Loveman's  and  secretly  installed  a  dictagraph  in  the 
big  studio  which  served  Loveman  as  a  library.  Al 
ways  there  were  ears  at  these  wires;  and  with  the 
help  of  four  of  Commissioner  Thome's  best  plain- 
clothes  men,  Clifford  tried  to  keep  every  movement 
of  the  suspects  covered.  Also  he  enlisted  the  aid 
of  Uncle  George,  in  whose  ears  the  secret  doings  of 
Broadway  were  somehow  mysteriously  published. 
Loveman  came  and  went  about  his  business  and 
pleasures,  apparently  as  usual ;  Hilton  was  not  seen 
again;  Nina  Cordova  was  seen  only  two  other  times; 
and  once,  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  Claridge  restau 
rant,  Clifford  saw  another  woman  with  Loveman  — 
one  Nan  Burdette,  who  had  had  a  meteoric  career 
in  New  York's  pleasure  life,  and  about  whom  Clif 
ford  had  heard  a  thing  or  two  not  at  all  to  that 
young  woman's  credit.  And  though  she  never  knew 
it,  Clifford  personally  kept  a  watch  over  Mary 
Regan.  Some  way,  he  felt  sure,  Mary  was  involved 
in  this. 

Also  as  part  of  this  plan  of  studying  all  possibly 
related  circumstances,  Clifford  scrutinized  every 
available  item  of  the  pasts  of  Hilton  and  Nan  Bur 
dette  and  Nina  Cordova. 

But  for  all  his  own  effort  and  the  efforts  of  those 
helping  him,  Clifford  still  had  little  more  than  sus- 

234 


MARY  REGAN 

picion  to  explain  the  disappearance  of  Jack  Morton. 
Jack  could  not  have  vanished  more  clearly  had  gravi 
tation  become  suddenly  invalidated  and  had  he  been 
shot  off  into  space  in  the  night. 

Clifford  kept  doggedly  at  his  method.  It  was  all 
slow  work,  painstaking  work,  and  tedious,  tiring, 
undramatic  work  —  as  all  good  police  work  is  and 
necessarily  must  be,  except  for  now  and  then  a  turn 
of  luck,  a  moment  of  inspiration.  But  after  the  fifth 
day  following  Jack's  disappearance  a  change  was 
noticeable:  from  the  various  sources  of  information 
which  Clifford  had  set  to  work,  little  details  began 
to  be  accumulated  —  bits  of  action  that  had  been 
seen,  fragments  of  talk  overheard  by  the  patient 
listeners  on  the  wires.  His  accumulation  of  tiny 
facts  increased  rapidly;  and  fitting  the  fragments 
together  he  began  to  perceive  the  outlines  of  a  plan, 
though  as  yet  he  had  no  proof  —  a  plan  which,  if 
he  was  conjecturing  truly,  was  a  typical  case  of  how 
clever  powers  may  operate  through  and  behind  the 
brilliant  activities  of  Big  Pleasure  —  of  how  such 
powers  may  subtly  twist  persons  to  their  own  ends, 
the  person  never  guessing  what  has  really  hap 
pened. 

On  the  seventh  day  there  came  to  him  another 
fragment  which  made  him  see  his  conjecture  as  an 
even  stronger  possibility,  which  made  him  feel  that 
this  hidden  plan  was  drawing  toward  its  climax  — 
and  which  caused  him  hastily  to  send  off  the  follow 
ing  note  to  Mary:  — 

235 


MARY  REGAN 

If  you  wish  me  to  help  you,  then  you  must  take  no 
action  without  first  referring  it  to  me.  And  if  any  person 
asks  you  to  do  any  particular  thing,  I  want  you  to  learn 
all  the  details  of  any  proposed  plan  and  then  tell  me, 
before  you  give  your  answer.  You  can  invent  plausible 
excuses  for  any  delay. 

The  next  day  proved  how  correct  had  been  the  rea 
soning  that  had  prompted  the  sending  of  this  note, 
for  in  the  afternoon  he  had  a  message  that  Mary 
wished  to  see  him  at  once.  He  hurried  to  her  apart 
ment,  quickened  with  suspense. 

"Mr.  Loveman  has  found  that  I  am  staying 
here,"  she  began. 

"I  knew  that.  He  was  bound  to  find  you  sooner 
or  later.  Has  he  asked  for  anything?" 

"He  has  invited  me  out  for  the  evening." 

"You  are  to  go  with  him  alone?" 

"So  he  said." 

"You  learned  definitely  where  he  was  going  to 
take  you?" 

"Yes.  To  dinner  at  the  Ritz  —  to  a  play  at  the 
Empire  Theater  —  to  supper  at  Delmonico's  — 
then  dancing  at  that  new  cafe,  Le  Minuit.  Shall  I 
accept?" 

Clifford  thought  rapidly.    "Certainly." 

"What  do  you  think  is  in  his  mind?" 

"Merely  to  entertain  you,"  —  though  Clifford 
did  not  believe  his  own  words,  —  "to  try  to  reestab 
lish  himself  in  good  standing  with  you." 

"Then  how  should  I  behave?" 
236 


MARY  REGAN 

"Just  have  as  good  a  time  as  you  can." 
Clifford  was  cool  enough  until  he  was  out  of  her 
presence ;  then  feverishly  he  considered  what  she  had 
told  him.  Whatever  this  subterranean  affair  might 
be,  if  this  invitation  had  any  part  in  it,  he  reasoned 
that  nothing  would  happen  at  such  discreet  places 
of  entertainment  as  the  Ritz-Carlton,  the  Empire 
Theater,  or  Delmonico's.  Instinctively  he  knew  that 
the  design  would  unfold  itself,  if  it  were  to  be  un 
folded  that  evening,  at  Le  Minuit,  an  establishment 
which  had  just  then  caught  the  errant  fancy  of  some 
of  the  smarter  social  set,  and  naturally,  therefore, 
of  members  of  the  smarter  set  of  the  demi-world  and 
underworld. 

His  business,  therefore,  was  to  be  at  Le  Minuit. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AT  THE  MIDNIGHT  CAp£ 

MONSIEUR  LE  BAIN,  proprietor  of  the  Grand  Al 
cazar,  was  a  man  of  ideas  and  was  by  way  of  being 
a  bit  of  a  monopolist  in  his  chosen  business.  But 
he  was  careful  not  to  be  his  own  competitor;  so 
when  he  had  prospered  to  the  point  where  prosper 
ity  could  be  enlarged  only  by  a  second  restaurant, 
he  took  great  thought  that  he  should  not  injure 
that  excellent  proposition,  the  Grand  Alcazar.  The 
result  of  this  thought  was  Le  Minuit,  which  he 
so  named  because  its  doors  did  not  open  until  mid 
night. 

Shortly  after  twelve  Clifford,  turning  a  few  paces 
off  Broadway,  mounted  a  brilliant  stairway.  By  be 
ing  off  the  street  floor,  "The  Midnight"  gave  a  sense 
(an  effect  carefully  thought  out  by  Monsieur  Le 
Bain)  of  privacy  and  also  of  piquant  naughtiness. 
He  was  in  evening  dress;  patrons  of  the  place, 
male  or  female,  had  to  be  so  garbed  to  pass  the  gold- 
braided  guardian  who  held  the  outer  door. 

Inside  the  cafe,  Clifford  was  approached  by  a 
head  waiter. 

"I  want  to  see  Monsieur  Le  Bain  —  at  once,"  he 
said  in  that  manner  which  head  waiters  instinc 
tively  obey. 

238 


MARY  REGAN 

The  head  waiter  vanished.  The  next  moment 
Monsieur  Le  Bain  was  approaching. 

"Joe,"  Clifford  began  shortly,  "this  joint  is  being 
watched,  and  I  Ve  got  my  eyes  on  it,  too." 

"Honest  to  God,  I  ain't  pullin'  nothin'  crooked 
here,"  responded  Monsieur  Le  Bain,  lapsing  from  his 
French  accent  into  the  one  more  natural  to  him. 

"You'd  better  not  try  to,"  Clifford  warned 
grimly,  looking  coldly  and  squarely  into  his  dark 
eyes.  Seeing  that  he  had  made  his  impression,  Clif 
ford  inquired:  "Mr.  Loveman  come  yet?" 

"No." 

" But  he  has  a  table  reserved  for  two?" 

"Yes." 

"Joe,  you  give  me  a  table  for  one,  close  to  it,  so 
I  can  see  Loveman,  without  being  seen." 

"  I  can  fix  you  up  with  a  cabinet  particulier,"  the 
other  said  cringingly,  "if  it's  privacy  you  want." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  alone  in  any  cabinet  particu 
lier.  I  want  to  be  alone  where  I  can  see.  You're 
going  to  fix  that  up,  Joe,  —  and  you  're  not  going  to 
pass  any  tip  along  to  Mr.  Loveman.  Otherwise 
you'll  be  hearing  something  from  the  Bureau  of 
Licenses  that  won't  be  healthy  for  your  business." 

"Aw,  now,  don't  get  sore,"  said  Monsieur  Le  Bain, 
"it's  goin'  to  be  just  like  you  say." 

It  was.  Two  minutes  later  Clifford  was  in  a  nook 
at  one  end  of  the  big  after-midnight  restaurant,  a 
tubbed  palm  insuring  him  privacy  from  any  save 
those  who  should  purposely  come  investigating.  A 

239 


MARY  REGAN 

few  yards  away,  with  a  placard  "Reserved,"  was  the 
table  that  had  been  indicated  as  Loveman's.  Along 
the  nearest  side  of  the  room  was  a  row  of  begilded 
doors,  entrances  into  small  private  dining-rooms  — * 
Monsieur  Le  Bain's  "cabinets  particulier."  The 
passing  of  waiters  through  these  doors  with  loaded 
trays,  and  the  issuance  of  laughter,  informed  Clifford 
that  some  of  these  rooms  were  already  occupied. 

Clifford's  job  was  now  a  waiting  job;  and  while  he 
waited  the  appearance  of  Loveman  and  Mary  Re 
gan,  he  took  in  the  restaurant.  Le  Minuit,  though 
it  advertised  "newest  decorations,  most  titillating 
dishes,  most  astonishing  entertainment,"  was  to 
Clifford  the  same  old  thing:  its  only  individual  ap 
peal  to  the  imagination  was  that  it  did  not  open 
till  midnight,  and  that  it  was  reputed  to  be  supreme 
in  the  matter  of  naughty  surprises.  The  pretentious 
mural  paintings  —  the  rows  of  mirrors  inserted  in 
the  walls,  framed  with  gilded  plaster  —  the  palms  in 
tubs  —  the  artificial  vines,  with  their  clusters  of 
purple  glass  grapes  hanging  from  the  latticed  ceil 
ing:  all  was  to  him  a  wearisome  duplication.  And  Le 
Minuit's  cabaret  was  the  same  old  thing  —  perhaps 
a  bit  more  risque  than  the  average  —  except  for  its 
great  feature,  one  Molkarina,  a  native  Hawaiian 
dancer,  who  whirled  and  contorted  and  jiggled  in 
what  New  York  accepted  as  authentic  folk-dances  — 
—  but  who,  as  Clifford  knew,  had  never  been  any 
nearer  the  much-sung  island  beaches  than  the  Bar- 
bary  Coast  of  San  Francisco. 

240 


MARY  REGAN 

Of  the  three  or  four  hundred  persons  who  by  this 
time  were  in  the  room,  Clifford  knew  some  by  name, 
all  he  knew  by  types.  There  were  a  few  indubitable 
members  of  the  smartest  social  set  for  whom  the 
wildest  was  becoming  tame  and  cloying;  and  there 
were  men  and  women  hardly  less  well  dressed,  who 
lived  by  every  means  except  honest  effort  —  who 
were  looking  for  pleasure  and  looking  for  prey;  and 
in  between  these  showy  extremes  were  a  few  work- 
a-day  persons  who  had  come  hither  in  a  spirit  of 
daring  exploration. 

Presently  Clifford  saw  Mary  Regan,  obsequiously 
led  by  Monsieur  Le  Bain  himself,  and  followed  by 
the  urbane  little  Peter  Loveman,  make  way  through 
the  hilarious  room  and  take  possession  of  the  reserved 
table.  Clifford  keyed  himself  to  watch  and  listen.  He 
sensed  that  he  was  now  about  to  have  revealed  to 
him  the  heart  of  this  whole  business. 

Evidently  Loveman  had  given  full  orders  in  ad 
vance,  for  almost  immediately  supper,  with  cham 
pagne  in  an  ice  pail,  was  brought  to  the  table.  The 
talk  at  first  was  chiefly  the  amusing,  disarming 
chatter  of  which  Loveman  was  a  master.  Then  by 
degrees  it  became  more  serious,  then  it  shifted  to 
Mary  and  her  plans. 

"Let's  face  the  whole  situation  squarely,  Mary," 
Clifford  heard  the  little  man  say  in  his  most  plaus 
ible  voice.  "I'm  perfectly  willing  to  back  you  up 
in  the  original  proposition  —  stand  right  behind 
you  —  the  same  as  I  promised  —  if  you  still  want 

241 


MARY  REGAN 

me  to.  But  let's  not  bunk  ourselves.  Mary,  I'm 
telling  you  God's  truth  —  it's  a  great  game  if  you 
could  put  it  over  —  only  you  can't  put  it  over!'' 

11 1  've  told  you  I  'm  going  to  try,  Peter  Loveman," 
she  returned  steadily,  "and  if  you  double-cross  me, 
I  '11  do  exactly  what  I  said  I  'd  do  —  and  that  means 
you'll  be  shown  up  to  the  Mortons  and,  besides, 
won't  get  a  nickel  out  of  them." 

"  Now,  now,  Mary,  let's  don't  talk  threats.  What 
ever  the  play,  we've  got  to  back  each  other's  hand; 
and  if  your  play  seems  the  best  play,  I'll  be  right 
with  you.  But  let's  look  at  the  facts  sensibly,  Mary. 
First  fact,  my  dear:  you're  basing  your  hope  of 
succeeding  in  your  plan,  —  it  was  the  original  plan 
of  us  all,  —  you're  building  that  plan,  on  Jack." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Mr.  Loveman?" 

"I  could  n't  help  seeing  what  was  in  your  mind, 
my  dear.  You  Ve  been  trying  to  reform  Jack.  You 
believe  that  if  you  can  steady  Jack  down  perma 
nently  —  make  a  real  responsible  man  of  him,  which 
is  what  everybody  else  has  failed  to  do  so  far  — 
that  you'll  make  yourself  so  solid  with  both  of  the 
Mortons,  so  much  of  a  necessity,  that  they'll  for 
give  whatever  you've  done  and  gladly  take  you 
on  as  a  regular  member  of  the  family.  And  as  a 
member  of  the  family  you  believe  you  '11  add  to  the 
Morton  dignity  and  prestige." 

"  You  think  I  can't  do  that  as  well  as  any  woman? " 
Mary  demanded. 

"That  part  of  it  you'd  do  better  than  any  other 
242 


MARY  REGAN 

woman!"  Loveman  hastened  to  reply.  "But  I'm 
not  talking  about  that.  I'm  talking  about  what 
comes  before  that  —  your  plan  to  make  a  man  out 
of  Jack.  You  never  can  do  that." 

"Why  not?" 

"Several  reasons.  Chiefly  because  Jack  can't  be 
made  a  man  of." 

"I  can  do  it." 

"Mary,  let's  quit  kidding  ourselves,"  Loveman 
returned  gravely,  quietly.  "Unless  you're  with 
Jack  constantly  you  can't  influence  him.  And  if 
you've  seen  Jack  during  the  last  ten  days  you've 
done  more  than  any  one  else  has." 

Mary  tried  to  speak  calmly.  "Jack  recently  left 
New  York  on  a  hunting  trip." 

Loveman  shook  his  head.  "Shooting  would  never 
take  Jack  away  from  New  York;  certainly  not  for 
ten  days.  He's  just — I  think  you  understand." 
He  regarded  Mary  keenly.  "You  know  Jack's  old 
reputation;  he  used  to  show  more  speed  than  any 
man  who  ever  entered  the  Broadway  Free-for-All. 
He  never  cared  much  for  song  —  but  he  was  all  for 
the  other  two  members  of  the  old  trio.  The  last 
bottle  was  Jack's  quitting  place,  and  daybreak  was 
his  bedtime." 

"Well?"  demanded  Mary. 

Loveman  answered  slowly.  "There's  a  rumor 
about  that  Jack's  his  old  self  once  more;  that  se 
cretly  he's  been  in  New  York  all  the  while,  and 
that  Broadway's  got  him  again." 

243 


MARY  REGAN 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  cried  Mary  in  a  low  voice. 

"And  I  do,"  Loveman  said  solemnly  —  "though 
I  have  no  proof." 

Clifford  could  see  that  Mary,  gazing  across  at  the 
little  lawyer,  had  turned  very  white.  For  all  her 
confident  exterior,  he  guessed  she  now  feared  that 
Jack  had  done  just  what  Loveman  had  said. 

"Well?"  she  challenged. 

"  If  Jack  has,  —  and  I  'm  sure  he  has,  —  is  n't  it 
perfectly  plain  that  you  can  never  make  a  respon 
sible  man  of  him?  And  if  you  can't  make  a  man  of 
him,  it's  perfectly  plain  that  you  can  never  put 
your  plan  across." 

"Well?"  repeated  Mary. 

Loveman  leaned  farther  over  the  table  and  spoke 
in  a  low  voice  —  though  Clifford  got  his  every  word. 
"Drop  the  game,  Mary.  It's  a  dead  one.  There's 
not  one  penny  for  you,  or  any  one  else,  in  trying  to 
play  it  further.  Drop  it,  and  come  in  on  the  basis 
I  spoke  of  a  week  or  so  ago." 

Mary's  face  gave  no  sign  of  what  she  might  be 
thinking.  "Just  what  was  that —  if  you  don't  mind 
outlining  it  again?" 

"First  item:  I  don't  need  to  remind  you  that 
I'm  retained  by  Mr.  Morton  to  look  after  Jack; 
say  in  a  week  I  bring  in  a  report  that  Jack  has  con 
tracted  a  secret  marriage  —  which  means  a  bill  for 
ten  thousand  for  detective  services,  which  I  '11  split 
with  you.  Second  item:  he'll  want  a  divorce;  I'll 
handle  the  case  and  get  a  big  fee  —  that 's  where  I 

244 


MARY  REGAN 

come  in.  You  '11  not  fight,  if  he  '11  pay  high  enough ; 
that 's  where  you  clean  up  between  a  hundred  thou 
sand  and  half  a  million  —  and  being  on  the  inside 
I  '11  be  in  a  position  to  tell  you  the  top  figure  that 
Morton  will  pay.  And  third  item :  freed  of  this  mess, 
and  with  Mrs.  Jack  Morton  as  your  legal  name, 
there's  no  end  to  the  big  propositions  I  could  put 
across  for  and  with  you  —  you  with  your  looks  and 
brains,  and  I  with  my  inside  knowledge  of  New 
York  domestic  life.  Big  stuff  —  big,  I  tell  you !  I 
could  land  you  close  to  the  top!" 

His  enthusiasm,  which  had  mounted  as  he  spoke, 
now  abated  to  a  tone  of  solid,  unanswerable  argu 
ment.  "That's  why  I  say  to  you  to  drop  your 
present  impossible  game,  and  come  into  these  new 
propositions." 

She  did  not  answer  at  once;  so  that  he  was  led  to 
prompt  her:  "That's  plain  enough,  is  n't  it,  Mary? 
—  that  the  thing  to  do  is  to  stop  thinking  about 
Jack  and  come  in  on  these  other  lines?" 

"Perhaps,"  she  answered  steadily.  "But  first, 
I  Ve  got  to  find  out  about  Jack.  I  don't  believe  what 
you  believe." 

"Well,  I'm  disappointed  —  though  perhaps  I 
don't  blame  you.  But  the  proposition  stands  open." 

With  the  philosophic  sigh  of  the  man  to  whom  the 
world  has  taught  patience,  he  fell  upon  the  remainder 
of  his  half  of  the  guinea-hen.  Clifford  saw  him  rub 
his  napkin  twice  across  his  mouth,  place  it  upon 
his  knees,  from  where  it  slipped  to  the  floor  —  which 

245 


MARY  REGAN 

may  or  may  not  have  been  a  signal.  But,  at  any  rate, 
the  next  moment  a  waiter,  who  had  been  standing 
close  at  hand,  opened  the  door  of  the  nearest  cabinet 
particulier.  "Did  you  ring?"  he  said,  and  stepping 
inside  left  the  door  open.  Mary's  gaze,  wandering 
from  her  table-mate,  went  through  the  doorway, 
and  she  saw,  what  Clifford  also  saw  from  his  retreat : 
Jack  Morton,  his  features  soddenly  loose,  leaning 
in  a  stupor  against  the  shoulder  of  a  woman. 

She  stared  fixedly  at  this  picture  so  unexpectedly 
enframed  by  the  doorway;  then  involuntarily  there 
burst  from  her  lips :  — 

"Good  God  — look!" 

Loveman  raised  his  eyes  from  his  guinea-hen,  and 
followed  her  gaze.  "Well  —  of  all  things!" 

The  waiter,  coming  out,  closed  the  door,  and 
the  brief  picture  was  gone.  Then  Loveman  turned 
on  Mary,  his  big  eyes  wide  with  amazement. 

"That  certainly  is  some  jolt!  Not  that  I'm  sur 
prised  at  the  fact  —  only  surprised  at  our  coming 
on  it  like  this." 

Clifford  saw  that  he  regarded  her  keenly.  She  was 
very  pale  and  strained,  but  said  nothing. 

"Well,  who  guessed  right?"  he  ventured  after  a 
moment.  Then,  more  confidently:  "That  ought  to 
settle  matters,  Mary.  There's  nothing  else  to  it 
—  you're  coming  in  on  the  new  line." 

Again  Mary  did  not  speak.  But  for  Loveman 
there  was  no  need  for  her  to  speak.  Clifford  easily 
guessed  what  was  passing  in  his  mind.  The  danger 

246 


MARY  REGAN 

which  she  represented  to  Loveman  was  now  averted ; 
the  plans  which  he  was  going  to  carry  out  with  her 
were  already  successes.  His  active  brain  was  leap 
ing  months,  even  years,  ahead.  This  was  one  of  the 
big  moments  of  his  life  —  one  of  those  few  mo 
ments  when  a  series  of  great  achievements  become 
suddenly  possible. 

But  Clifford  could  not  see  into  the  soul  of  Mary 
Regan;  tensely  he  wondered  what  was  passing 
therein  —  and  waited. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

MARY  MAKES  AN  OFFER 

MARY,  gazing  at  that  little  door,  was,  for  all  her 
composed  exterior,  sick  of  soul:  contrary  emotions 
and  impulses  clashed  within  her.  A  fury  suddenly 
possessed  her.  She  had  lost  —  been  defeated  in  her 
great  plan  by  the  invertebrateness  of  one  man.  Well, 
Jack  could  go  his  champagne-bottled  way  to  the  in 
evitable  end  of  such  as  he!  She  was  through!  .  .  . 
And  then  she  remembered  Maisie  Jones,  admiring 
tears  in  her  proud  eyes,  and  she  recalled  her  trem 
bling  words  of  belief:  "You  can  do  what  I  can  never 
do  —  you  Ve  proved  that  you  can  make  a  real  man 
of  Jack." 

She  rose  quickly.  "I'm  going  to  get  him,"  she 
breathed  huskily. 

"Wait  —  you  must  n't!"  cried  Loveman  in  alarm, 
starting  up  and  clutching  at  her  wrist. 

But  she  eluded  him,  and  made  for  the  little  door 
of  the  cabinet  particulier,  he  at  her  skirt  —  and  Clif 
ford  just  behind  them.  What  they  all  saw  was  a 
tricksy,  ornate  room,  lighted  with  imitation  electric 
candles;  Jack  now  toppled  forward  limp  and  uncon 
scious  among  the  dishes ;  and  about  the  table  Nina 
Cordova,  Hilton,  that  polished  adventurer  of  the 
smart  hotels,  and  Nan  Burdette,  high-colored,  bold- 
eyed  cafe  favorite. 

248 


MARY  REGAN 

Mary  moved  inside,  Loveman  at  her  heels.  But 
Clifford  remained  without,  waiting.  The  situation 
was  Mary's  —  for  her  to  face,  for  her  to  reveal  her 
self  by. 

Mary  stepped  quickly  forward  and  shook  Jack's 
shoulder.  "Jack  —  wake  up !  Come  on  out  of  this ! " 

Jack,  a  limp  weight,  showed  no  life,  but  the  other 
three  did.  Nan  Burdette  sprang  up. 

"Stop  that!  What  d'  you  think  you're  doing?" 

Mary  flamed  at  her  —  and  at  Nina  Cordova  — 
and  at  Hilton.  "  I  'm  going  to  take  him  away  from 
you  blood-suckers,"  she  said  with  cold  fury. 

"You  call  me  that — "  the  cafe  beauty  was  be 
ginning  angrily,  when  Nina  Cordova,  the  petite, 
rose  and  checked  her.  "Shut  up,  Nan!"  She  leaned 
toward  Mary,  and  spoke  cuttingly,  "Why,  if  it 
is  n't  the  little  dame  that  Jack  lived  with,  and  got 
tired  of,  and  then  gave  the  grand  shake.  Well,  little 
one,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  your  darling 
sweetheart  who  loves  you  so  much  that  he's  run 
away  to  avoid  the  sight  of  you?" 

Mary's  voice  was  chokingly  composed.  She  re 
turned  the  other's  ironical  gaze  with  a  glare  of  con 
tempt. 

"I'm  going  to  take  him  away  from  you  people 
—  to  where  he  can  sober  up  —  have  a  chance  to 
think  about  it  all  —  become  himself.  That's  what 
I  'm  going  to  do." 

"And  what  good '11  that  do  you?"  pursued  Nina 
cuttingly  —  "since  he's  all  through  with  you?" 

249 


MARY  REGAN 

"What  he  thinks  of  me  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
case,"  Mary  returned. 

"Mary,  it's  no  use  —  keep  out  of  this!"  cried 
little  Loveman.  He  took  her  arm  to  draw  her  away, 
but  she  shook  him  off. 

"I'm  going  to  do  exactly  what  I  said  I'd  do. 
Come  on,  Jack." 

"No,  you  're  not ! "  Nina  cried,  suddenly  sharp  and 
venomous,  leaning  farther  across  the  table.  "You 
just  try  to  start  anything  like  that  and  I  '11  tell  the 
Mortons  who  you  really  are  —  Miss  Mary  Regan  I " 

Hilton,  finished  gentleman  of  hotel,  caf6,  and 
ballroom,  had  moved  around  the  table  to  her  side. 
"And  start  anything,  and  I'll  tell  what  I  know,"  he 
said  in  a  hard  voice,  his  hands  twitching.  "And  it  '11 
be  something  besides  what  Miss  Cordova  will  tell. 
I  believe  you  get  me,  Mrs.  Mary  Regan  Grayson!" 

"And  we  won't  put  off  telling  till  to-morrow!" 
cried  Nina  Cordova.  She  moved  quickly  to  a  little 
wall  telephone,  tinted  in  gray-and-gold  to  match 
the  room,  and  took  down  the  receiver. 

"Give  me  the  Biltmore.  .  .  .  The  Biltmore?  Con 
nect  me  with  Mr.  Morton.  .  .  .  Mr.  Morton,  this  is 
Miss  Cordova.  Will  you  please  hold  the  wire  a  mo 
ment." 

She  muffled  the  mouthpiece  with  a  palm  and 
turned  upon  Mary.  "Get  out  of  this  —  or  your 
finish  will  come  in  just  one  second!" 

Clifford's  eyes,  taking  in  all,  were  centered  on 
Mary,  who  was  gazing  at  all  these  faces  bent  upon 

250 


MARY  REGAN 

her  in  menace.  He  saw  that  her  impulses  had  come 
to  a  sudden  halt ;  that  she  realized  that  these  persons 
could,  and  would,  do  exactly  what  they  threatened; 
that  their  telling  would  mean  an  immediate  end  to 
the  ambitious  plans  for  which  she  had  schemed  and 
worked  and  waited  so  hard. 

There  was  silence  in  the  little  cabinet  particulier; 
all  the  figures,  save  Jack's,  stood  in  tense  tableau  — 
waiting.  Clifford,  looking  through  the  aperture  of 
the  door,  recognized  that  this  was  a  climax  in  Mary 
Regan's  life.  Events,  with  some  guidance  from 
him  had  arranged  a  supreme  test.  The  next  instant 
would  prove  something  —  what?  He  was  as  taut  as 
those  within. 

Mary,  with  slow  calm,  drew  a  deep  breath;  her 
figure  stiffened.  "Mr.  Hilton,  Miss  Cordova,"  she 
said  steadily,  slowly,  her  eyes  not  leaving  them,  "you 
may  tell  everything  you  like.  I  am  going  to  take 
Jack  away  from  here." 

At  her  words  an  exultant  thrill  leaped  through 
Clifford.  She  had  had  her  choice  —  and  had  chosen 
the  way  of  her  own  destruction! 

Mary  put  an  arm  under  Jack's  shoulders.  "Stop 
that!"  cried  Nina,  in  sudden  fury,  dropping  the  tele 
phone  receiver  and  clutching  the  unconscious  Jack, 
so  that  he  was  torn  away  from  Mary's  arm.  With 
energetic  fury  she  turned  on  Loveman.  "Peter 
Loveman,  make  her  stop!  You  promised  me,  if  I'd 
come  into  this,  you'd  fix  up  a  marriage  between 
Jack  and  me!" 

251 


MARY  REGAN 

"Shut  up,  Nina!"  Loveman  cut  in  sharply,  in 
half  panic.  "Mary,"  he  cried,  seizing  her  arm, 
4 '  come  on  —  let 's  leave  her  —  quick ! " 

But  the  lithe  Hilton  did  not  depend  upon  the  in 
fluence  of  mere  words.  From  somewhere  out  of  his 
elegant  person  he  drew  a  small  pistol,  and  this  he 
thrust  against  Mary's  side. 

"Get  out  of  this,"  he  snapped,  "or  this  gun  goes 
off!  And  we'll  all  swear  it  was  suicide.  The  gun's 
a  lady's  size,  and  suicides  are  common  in  joints  like 
this.  Get  out!" 

Mary  did  not  quiver  —  she  looked  Hilton  squarely 
in  his  handsome,  evil  face.  At  that  instant  Clifford 
stepped  swiftly  into  the  room  and  closed  the  light 
door  behind  him.  The  next  instant  he  had  wrenched 
the  pistol  from  Hilton's  hand,  and  pocketed  it,  and 
had  seized  both  Hilton  and  Loveman  by  their  col 
lars. 

"Cut  out  that  rough  stuff,  Hilton,  or  I  finish  you 
off  here!"  he  said.  "And  so,  Loveman,  I  Ve  got  you 
at  it  again?" 

The  little  lawyer  twisted  about  —  gave  Clifford 
a  startled  stare  —  and  then  forced  a  smile  intended 
to  be  tolerant,  but  which  was  sickly.  "Why,  Bob, 
I  don't  know  a  thing  about  this  — " 

"Shut  up!"  snapped  Clifford. 

He  turned  to  Mary,  who  was  still  bewildered  by 
his  sudden  appearance,  and  again  the  leaping  thrill 
went  through  him.  "Mary,  you've  gone  through 
this  great!  Great,  I  tell  you.  And  these  people  — 

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MARY  REGAN 

don't  worry  about  them  another  minute.  You've 
won  out!" 

Mary  stared  at  him,  now  breathing  quickly.  "I 
don't  quite  —  understand." 

"You  were  not  supposed  to  understand.  There 
has  been  a  big,  careful,  subtle  plan,  —  a  plot  de 
vised  by  Peter  Loveman,  —  and  you,  without  know 
ing  it,  were  to  have  been  the  goat!" 

4 'Oh,  I  say  now,  Bob!"  protested  Loveman; 
"you're  talking  like  a  melodrama.  Why  should  I 
plot  against  Mary?" 

"Why?  Listen  to  your  own  words  —  you  know 
whom  you  said  them  to."  And  Clifford  quoted, 
driving  his  words  savagely  at  Loveman:  "'Say, 
but  this  is  one  hell  of  a  situation !  Here  I  went  into 
a  game  to  clean  up  in  three  or  four  directions,  rely 
ing  chiefly  on  the  criminal  instincts  of  a  clever  girl 
to  see  the  game  through  —  and,  damn  it,  if  the  girl 
has  n't  turned  straight  on  me !  Or,  if  she  is  playing 
a  crooked  game,  she's  trying  to  play  it  straight. 
And  the  original  game  is  no  good  now  —  is  sure  to 
fail.  I  want  her  to  quit  it,  and  come  in  on  some  other 
big  proposition ;  but  she  won't  quit  it  —  she  still 
dreams  she  can  put  it  over.  And  if  I  openly  block 
her,  she'll  blow  on  herself  and  me,  and  break  with 
me,  and  that'll  end  everything.  How's  that  for  a 
hell  of  a  fix!'  Remember  saying  that,  Loveman?" 

Loveman  had  paled.  "I  don't  know  what  you're 
talking  about." 

"And  remember  saying  this,  Loveman?"  Clif- 
253 


MARY  REGAN 

ford  drove  at  him:  "'I've  got  to  have  Mary  Regan 
with  us.  But  the  only  way  out  of  this  mess  is  to 
handle  affairs  so  as  to  make  her  believe,  from  her  o\vn 
experience,  that  she  can't  succeed  in  her  respectable 
game  —  then  she'll  come  around  to  our  way  of 
thinking,  and  she'll  try  to  clean  up  with  us.  And 
there's  only  one  way  to  reach  her  —  and  that's 
through  Jack  Morton."' 

Clifford  turned  sharply  upon  Mary.  "Isn't  it 
clear  to  you  now?  —  Jack's  disappearance  and  all 
the  rest?  Loveman  was  determined  your  plan  with 
Jack  Morton  should  not  go  ahead.  Since  he  did  n't 
dare  openly  oppose  you,  he  concluded  that  the  best 
scheme  to  defeat  you  would  be  to  get  hold  of  Jack 
and  handle  him  so  that  he  would  give  himself  over 
completely  to  dissipation  —  that  would  show  you 
how  hopeless  your  plan  was,  and  you'd  drop  it. 
You've  been  framed,  and  Jack's  been  framed;  and 
this  wine  party  in  here  was  part  of  the  frame-up; 
and  Loveman 's  letting  you  have  a  glimpse,  as  if  by 
chance,  of  Jack  in  here,  a  hopeless  debauche,  was  to 
have  been  the  clinching  argument  that  would  make 
you  give  up  and  join  in  with  him." 

"Clifford,"  blustered  Loveman,  "everything  you 
have  just  said  is  a  lie!  —  and  Mary  knows  it." 

"Loveman,"  returned  Clifford  in  grim  wrath, 
"even  though  you  are  a  small  man,  I'd  hit  you  in 
the  face  if  I  did  n't  think  it  might  improve  your 
features."  He  turned  again  to  Mary.  "Hilton  and 
Nan  Burdette  have  been  Loveman's  chief  tools  for 

254 


MARY  REGAN 

keeping  Jack  drunk  and  out  of  sight;  they're  both 
experts  at  such  business.  Miss  Cordova  has  been  in 
it  to  help  out  in  some  of  the  finer  points;  she's  an 
old-time  friend  of  Jack,  and  you've  just  learned  of 
an  ambition  of  her  own.  That's  the  case,  Miss  Re 
gan.  I  don't  feel  like  praising  Jack,  but  it's  only 
fair  to  him  to  emphasize  that  he's  not  here  because 
he  tired  of  you,  as  they've  tried  to  make  you  think. 
I  want  you  to  understand  clearly  that  Jack  is  the 
victim  of  this  smooth  bunch;  that  whatever  he  felt 
toward  you  two  weeks  ago,  he  doubtless  still  feels; 
that  whatever  he  then  was,  he  probably  still  is." 

"A  lot  of  good  that'll  do  her,  when  I  tell  what  I 
know!"  burst  out  the  infuriated  Miss  Cordova. 

"And  I  can  tell  a  little  that  will  help,"  grimly 
added  Nan  Burdette. 

There  was  a  glitter  in  Hilton's  dark  eyes,  and  he 
bared  his  white  teeth.  "And  what  I've  got  to  tell 
will  jam  up  her  game  even  worse!  You  and  she  are 
not  going  to  get  away  with  this!" 

"The  three  of  you  are  going  to  say  exactly  noth 
ing!  Nan  Burdette,"  —  with  sudden  incisiveness, 
—  "I  know  your  part  in  that  Gordon  affair.  Miss 
Cordova,  I  Ve  got  more  than  a  hunch  about  that 
pearl  necklace  Mrs.  Sinclair  gave  her  husband  to 
have  repaired  and  which  strangely  disappeared.  And, 
Hilton,  I've  got  a  lead  about  a  certain  lady  who 
fainted  —  she  really  drank  drugged  tea  —  at  an 
afternoon  dance  at  the  Grantham  and  whose  dia 
mond  brooch  was  not  afterwards  found.  I'd  run 

255 


MARY  REGAN 

every  one  of  you  in  this  minute  —  only  I  'd  rather 
keep  things  quiet  and  give  Miss  Regan  her  chance 
to  do  just  as  she  pleases  concerning  Jack  Morton. 
But  if  there  is  one  word  —  and  I  '11  know  it,  if  there 
is  —  if  there 's  one  word  from  any  of  you  that 
touches  on  Miss  Regan,  I'll  get  every  one  of  you!" 

He  turned  sharply  on  Loveman.  "These  are 
your  people,  Peter  Loveman;  working  under  your 
orders.  You  tell  them  to  keep  their  mouths  closed 
about  Miss  Regan;  if  there's  a  peep,  something 
very  unexpected  is  also  going  to  happen  to  you." 

"See  here,  Clifford,"  protested  Loveman,  "I've 
no  control  over  them!" 

"Believe  it  or  not,  Loveman,  but  I've  got  you, 
too,"  Clifford  retorted  sharply,  "only  I'd  rather 
not  close  in  on  you  just  yet  unless  you  make  me. 
You  '11  give  them  that  order  and  see  that  they  obey 
it,  or  you'll  get  what  you'll  get!" 

Loveman  gazed  for  a  moment  longer  into  Clif 
ford's  set  face.  Then  with  a  feeble  attempt  at  a 
pleasant  smile  he  turned  to  the  others:  — 

"  I  guess  you  all  understand  that  I  'd  like  to  have 
you  do  as  Mr.  Clifford  says." 

"That's  all,"  said  Clifford  sharply.  "Now,  get 
out  of  here. —  all  of  you.  You  can  settle  your  bills 
outside.  I  give  you  just  one  minute." 

Within  the  minute  they  were  gone.  Mary  and 
Clifford,  alone  in  the  little  room,  Jack  still  pitched 
unconsciously  forward  upon  the  table,  looked  at 
each  other  for  a  long  space.  Despite  the  fake  Ha- 

256 


MARY  REGAN 

waiian  music  and  the  laughter  of  the  mixed  world 
of  Le  Minuit,  which  sounded  through  the  thin  par 
titions,  there  was  in  reality  a  deep  silence  between 
them. 

"  I  want  to  thank  you  —  I  want  to  thank  you  very 
much,"  breathed  Mary,  at  length. 

He  seemed  not  to  hear  her  halting  words.  "Do 
you  know  what  is  the  really  big  thing  about  all  this?  " 

"What?" 

He  spoke  very  quickly.  "By  your  action  a  few 
minutes  ago,  you  proved  that  you  are  not  wholly 
the  worldly  person  you  thought  you  were.  The  risks 
you  then  took  were  not  to  save  your  ambitious 
plan ;  you  took  them  to  save  Jack.  You  forgot  your 
self.  Through  your  own  scheming  Life  placed  a  re 
sponsibility  on  you  —  and  you  accepted  it.  That 
is  the  big  thing!" 

She  stared  at  him,  bewildered  questioning  in  her 
pale,  dark  face.  He  saw  that  she  still  did  not  under 
stand  herself  —  the  impulses  which  had  moved  her 
—  and  which  might  still  be  moving  her.  For  a  mo 
ment  she  did  not  speak.  Then  she  asked,  looking 
down  at  Jack :  — 

"But  what  am  I  to  do  now?" 

"That  is  for  you  to  decide.  When  you  have  de 
cided,  I'll  help  you." 

"  If  I  take  Jack  from  here  — "  She  broke  off;  and 
stood  gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  stupefied  boy. 
"  It  would  do  no  good  unless  —  unless  — " 

Again  she  left  her  sentence  uncompleted.  The 
257 


MARY  REGAN 

insistent  ringing  of  the  little  telephone,  whose  re 
ceiver  was  still  dangling,  caught  her  attention.  She 
walked  with  a  manner  of  decision  to  the  telephone. 

"Central,  please  get  me  the  Biltmore,"  she  re 
quested  steadily.  "This  the  Biltmore?  Please  con 
nect  me  with  Mr.  Morton.  ...  Is  this  Mr.  Mor 
ton?  Mr.  Morton,  this  is  Mrs.  Grayson  —  Miss 
Gilmore,  you  know.  I  am  now  at  Le  Minuit.  I 
wonder  if  you  would  care  to  meet  me  here.  .  .  . 
Very  well,  in  ten  minutes,  then.  I' 11  be  waiting  in 
a  taxi-cab  down  in  front.  .  .  .  My  answer  to  your 
invitation?  Yes  —  if  you  want  my  answer,  I'll 
have  it  ready." 

She  hung  up. 

"He  was  referring  to  that  cruise  with  him?" 
asked  Clifford. 

"Yes." 

Clifford  regarded  her  curiously :  What  was  her  pur 
pose  in  summoning  Mr.  Morton  into  this  situation? 

"  I  want  to  get  Jack  down  into  a  taxi-cab,"  Mary 
went  on.  "How  can  I  do  it?  —  and  without  at 
tracting  attention?" 

"That's  easy.  Nothing  of  that  sort  attracts  at 
tention  at  Le  Minuit." 

He  pressed  a  button,  and  from  the  waiter  who 
appeared  he  demanded  the  immediate  presence  of 
Monsieur  Le  Bain.  Two  minutes  later  the  proprie 
tor  entered. 

"Joe,"  Clifford  ordered  briefly,  "get  Mr.  Mor 
ton's  things,  whatever  they  are,  and  have  two  of 

258 


MARY  REGAN 

your  waiters  help  him  down  into  a  taxi,  and  have 
the  taxi  wait  till  we  come  down.  Everything  quiet, 
mind  you." 

"Sure,"  said  the  Frenchman  from  somewhere 
below  Fourteenth  Street. 

Presently  two  waiters  supported  the  still  stupe 
fied  Jack  out  of  the  room;  a  little  later  Clifford 
and  Mary  passed  unheeded  through  the  hilarious 
patrons  of  Le  Minuit,  down  the  stairway,  and 
across  the  light-flooded  sidewalk  out  into  the  wait 
ing  taxi-cab,  in  one  corner  of  which  Jack  huddled 
limply.  Here  they  sat  silent,  waiting.  Clifford  had 
a  sense  that  it  was  not  the  old  Mary  Regan  beside 
whom  he  sat  —  but  that  new  Mary  Regan  who  did 
not  know  herself:  and  he  had  a  sense  that,  with  her 
at  least,  big  issues  were  still  at  stake. 

Presently  another  taxi  rapidly  turned  the  corner 
and  came  to  a  pause  just  behind  them.  Out  of  this 
the  elder  Morton  stepped. 

"Wait  here  for  a  moment,  please,"  Mary  said  to 
Clifford.  She  stepped  out  upon  the  brilliant  side 
walk  —  and  Clifford  looked  on,  wondering. 

"Oh,  Miss  Gilmore!  "  cried  Morton,  swiftly  com 
ing  to  her  with  an  eager,  expectant  smile.  "  You 
were  an  angel  to  call  me  up  —  after  not  letting  me 
see  you  for  so  long!  Though,"  he  quickly  added  in 
soft  complaint,  "  it  wasn't  very  kind  of  you  to  run 
away  from  me  as  you  did." 

'  You  advised  me  to  leave  the  Grantham,"  she 
reminded  him. 

259 


MARY  REGAN 

"Yes,  but  I  did  n't  advise  you  to  go  leaving  me 
in  ignorance  of  your  whereabouts,"  he  returned  in 
an  amiably  hurt  tone.  "And  that  —  ah  —  little 
present:  was  it  kind  to  return  it,  without  a  word, 
the  way  you  did?" 

"You  mean  that  ten  thousand  dollars?  I  did  not 
need  the  money." 

"No?"  He  smiled.  "I  thought  a  woman  always 
needed  money.  — Well,  my  dear,  now  that  I  've  found 
you  again  I  hope  there'll  never  be  another  such 
dreary  hiatus  in  our  friendship.  You're  looking  — 
but  I'm  no  poet!  And  at  last  I'm  to  have  my 
answer?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  quietly. 

"Good!  I've  had  that  yacht  put  in  commission. 
Everything  is  waiting.  When '11  you  be  ready  to 
go?" 

"I'm  not  going,"  said  Mary. 

"Not  going!    The  devil  you  say!" 

He  stared  at  her  white,  set  face.  Dominated  by 
his  own  pleasant  conception  of  this  situation,  he 
had  not  till  then  really  noted  her  bearing.  He  was 
completely  taken  aback. 

"Well  —  you  have  your  nerve!  Then  why  did 
you  ask  me  to  come  over  here,  and  at  such  an  hour?" 

"I  thought  you  might  like  to  see  your  son." 

"Jack!"  he  exclaimed. 

She  nodded.  "He's  in  here"  —  and  moving  back 
a  pace  she  pointed  into  the  car. 

"My  God  —  Jack!"  breathed  his  father,  as  he 
260 


MARY  REGAN 

sighted  the  limp,  exhausted  figure.  Then  he  saw 
Clifford.  "You,  Clifford!"  he  exclaimed  sharply. 
" Where 'd  you  find  him?" 

Clifford  stepped  from  the  car.  "I  didn't  find 
him.  Miss  Gilmore  found  him." 

Morton  turned  swiftly  upon  Mary.  "So  you've 
broken  your  promise  and  had  him  all  this  time!" 
he  cried  harshly.  "You  brought  him  to  this!" 

"Hold  on,  Mr.  Morton,"  Clifford  shot  in.  "Miss 
Gilmore  had  not  seen  him  till  to-night.  To-night 
she  found  him  in  the  drunken  company  he's  been 
in  for  ten  days.  She  got  him  away  from  them  and 
sent  for  you.  The  least  a  gentleman  —  particularly  a 
gentleman  who  has  taken  such  poor  care  of  his  son 
—  can  do  under  the  conditions  is  to  try  to  apolo 
gize." 

Morton  glowered  at  Clifford.  " If  that's  the  case, 
of  course,  I  apologize.  But  the  question  is,  where 's 
he  been  all  this  time?" 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  put  in  Mary  in  the  same  quiet 
voice,  "that  the  most  important  question  is,  what 
are  you  going  to  do  with  him?" 

"Do  with  him?"  demanded  Morton,  staring  at 
her.  "What's  in  your  mind?" 

Clifford  had  been,  and  still  was,  asking  himself 
those  same  questions. 

Mary,  standing  between  the  two  men,  gazed  very 
calmly  at  Mr.  Morton.  "You've  had  Jack  in  charge 
for  twenty-five  years  —  and  in  there  you  see  your 
work.  He  was  with  me  awhile;  during  that  short 

261 


MARY  REGAN 

time  he  tried  to  be,  and  was,  a  man.  It's  up  to  you 
to  choose." 

Morton  stared  —  blinked  his  eyes  —  drew  a  deep 
breath.  "Am  I  getting  you  right?  Are  you  suggest 
ing  that  Jack  come  back  to  you?" 

Clifford  now  began  to  understand ;  though  he  had 
no  idea  —  nor  perhaps  did  she,  for  that  matter,  —  of 
the  degree  to  which  she  was  moved  by  the  tearful 
figure  of  Maisie  Jones,  breathing,  "You  are  big  — 
wonderful!" 

"I  think  I  might  make  a  man  of  him,"  she  said. 

"  You  mean  to  resume  on  the  old  basis  —  the  dis 
creet  Riverside  Drive  affair  —  and  all  that?" 

"Just  that.  I  '11  do  my  best  for  him  —  provided 
he  comes  with  your  knowledge  and  consent." 

He  gazed  at  her  intently.  "You're  a  new  kind  to 
me!"  Then,  dryly:  "No,  thank  you." 

"I  shall  never  ask  you  for  a  single  thing,"  she 
urged. 

He  gazed  at  her,  hesitating.  It  was  not  given  to 
any  of  the  trio  to  see  then  what  a  moment  of  great 
crisis  this  was.  It  was  like  the  apex  of  so  many  of 
Life's  crises  —  very  quiet,  very  composed. 

"No,  thank  you,"  Mr.  Morton  said  with  decision. 
"  I  have  other  plans  for  him.  I  shall  now  handle  him 
myself." 

"Just  as  you  say.  But  remember,  I  made  you 
an  offer."  Her  calm  expression  did  not  change  by 
a  flicker.  "Under  the  circumstances,  the  simplest 
arrangement  would  be  for  us  merely  to  exchange 

262 


MARY  REGAN 

taxis.  I  suggest  that  you  take  my  taxi  with  your  son. 
With  your  permission  I'll  take  your  cab.  Good 
night." 

She  turned  about,  with  her  composed  air  of  final 
ity.  "Will  you  please  help  me  in,  Mr.  Clifford?" 

Clifford  did  so.  Over  his  shoulder  he  had  a  glimpse 
of  the  handsome,  elderly  man  standing,  loose-jawed, 
staring  after  her. 

As  Clifford  settled  beside  her  and  the  car  sprang 
away,  there  was  a  sharp,  breaking  choke  from  her, 
and  she  dropped  her  face  into  her  hands.  After  that 
she  gripped  herself  and  sat  silent,  rigid,  as  the  car 
spun  on.  Clifford,  gazing  on  her,  wondered  thrill- 
ingly  what  was  happening  within  that  taut  figure 
.  .  .  wondered  what  might  happen  in  the  days  to 
come.  . 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
LOVEMAN'S  FINAL  PLEA 

As  the  taxi-cab  spun  northward  through  the  two- 
o'clock  streets,  Clifford  continued  to  gaze  at  the 
taut  figure  of  Mary  Regan,  and  at  her  white,  set 
face.  It  had  certainly  been  an  hour  to  try  her  soul, 
that  experience  ending  a  few  minutes  since  at  the 
Midnight  Cafe. 

To  Clifford  it  seemed  that  all  Mary's  shrewd 
scheming  had  brought  her  up  at  last  against  an  un- 
surmountable  wall.  Again  Clifford  wondered  what 
was  passing  behind  that  pale  face:  wondered  what 
was  going  to  be  the  ending  of  her  great  worldly  plan, 
which  thus  far  had  had  so  many  undreamed-of  de 
velopments:  wondered  how  all  this  tangled  affair  was 
going  to  come  out  for  her  —  and  again  wondered 
which  of  the  two  persons  he  knew  in  her  was  to  be 
the  dominant  Mary  Regan  when  this  matter  had 
played  itself  through  to  its  unguessable  conclusion. 

The  taxi-cab  halted,  and  Clifford  escorted  her  to 
the  door  of  her  apartment  house. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  next,  if  you  don't  mind 
telling?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know  yet  —  perhaps  nothing,"  she  said 
absently.  And  then,  with  quiet  vigor:  "Jack's  not 
to  blame  so  much  for  what  he  is.  It's  chiefly  his 

264 


MARY  REGAN 

father's  fault.  I  wish  I  could  make  his  father  pay!" 
Her  dark  eyes  flashed,  her  figure  tensed  with  sudden 
purpose.  "Yes,  somehow  I  am  going  to  make  his 
father  pay!" 

She  held  out  her  hand,  and  gave  him  a  steady 
look.  "At  any  rate,  I  want  to  thank  you.  You've 
done  all  you  could  for  me.  Good-night." 

"Good-night." 

He  watched  her  in  —  this  strange,  confident 
young  woman,  so  tangled  in  the  web  of  her  own 
spinning,  whom  he  had  drifted  into  so  strangely 
helping,  and  whom,  though  she  could  now  have 
no  part  in  his  life,  he  knew  he  still  loved.  But  back 
in  the  taxi-cab,  his  mind  at  once  was  on  another 
matter.  He  had  glimpsed  Peter  Loveman  lurking 
within  the  doorway  during  the  end  of  that  scene  in 
front  of  Le  Minuit;  and  he  knew  that  keen  little 
lawyer  was  no  man  to  give  up  merely  because  he 
seemed  to  be  beaten.  In  fact  Loveman  would  act 
all  the  more  quickly  for  just  that  reason. 

Clifford  drove  two  blocks  to  the  south,  a  block 
west,  and  a  block  north,  then,  ordering  his  cab  to 
wait,  he  stepped  out  and  walked  north  to  the  next 
corner.  He  peered  around  this  and  waited.  Pres 
ently  he  saw  what  he  more  than  half  expected  to 
see  —  Loveman  crossing  from  a  taxi  to  the  entrance 
of  Mary's  apartment  house.  He  saw  him  press 
Mary's  button,  and  after  a  space  saw  Loveman 
push  open  the  door  and  enter. 

Clifford  tried  to  guess  what  plan  the  little  lawyer, 
265 


MARY  REGAN 

whose  wiles  he  had  exposed  to  Mary  only  an  hour 
before  at  Le  Minuit,  could  regard  as  so  important 
that  it  had  to  be  undertaken  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  without  the  loss  of  a  single  possible  minute. 
He  wanted  to  slip  down  the  street,  enter  the  house, 
and  try  to  watch  and  overhear;  but  the  chauffeur  in 
Loveman's  waiting  taxi  might  also  be  Loveman's 
lookout  and  personal  guard.  There  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  wait  where  he  was  and  watch. 

Within,  up  on  the  fourth  floor,  Mary  stood  out 
side  her  open  door,  looking  down  into  the  dark, 
narrow  stairway,  with  its  sharp  turns  and  tiny  land 
ings.  When  the  dim,  mounting  figure  started  up  the 
last  flight  and  she  saw  it  was  Loveman,  she  drew 
sharply  back  and  tried  to  close  her  door.  But  Love 
man,  quick  despite  his  plump  figure,  sprang  up  the 
final  steps  and  thrust  his  walking-stick  into  the  clos 
ing  aperture.  He  tried  to  force  the  door  with  his 
shoulder,  but  Mary's  strength  on  the  other  side  was 
fully  equal  to  his  own  and  the  door  did  not  budge.  He 
desisted,  but  kept  the  advantage  held  by  his  walk 
ing-stick. 

"Come,  Mary,  my  dear,  don't  be  so  inhospitable," 
he  said  through  the  crack,  in  a  pleasantly  com 
plaining  voice.  "You  know,  I  would  n't  have  come 
at  such  an  hour  unless  it  was  important.  And  yoti 
know  I  'm  your  friend." 

The  door  did  not  move. 

"This  is  a  raw  way  to  treat  your  old  nurse  and 
playmate,"  complained  Loveman.  "Particularly 

266 


MARY  REGAN 

when  I  Ve  come  to  tell  you  something  that  it ' s  your 
business  to  know  —  something  about  Jack." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  suddenly 
the  door  swung  wide  open,  and  Loveman  found 
himself  looking  at  a  small  automatic  and  beyond  that 
at  the  cold  face  of  Mary. 

"Come  in,  but  behave  yourself,"  she  said  briefly. 

He  entered  and  closed  the  door.  "Your  suspicion 
hurts  me,  Mary,  dear,"  he  said  in  his  amiably  in 
jured  tone.  He  raised  his  two  hands,  one  holding  the 
cane  and  the  other  his  silk  hat,  high  above  his  shining 
dome.  '  'Just  to  allay  your  suspicions,  so  we  can  talk 
as  good  friends  should  talk,  I  suggest  that  you  first 
frisk  me." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  and  don't  try  to  be  humorous. 
Put  down  your  hands.  I  don't  care  how  many  guns 
you  have  —  I  can  beat  you  to  the  first  shot  —  and 
there'll  be  only  one  shot.  What  do  you  want?" 

Loveman  lowered  his  hands  and  laid  stick  and 
hat  upon  a  table.  "Mind  if  an  asthmatic,  dropsical, 
and  almost  moribund  gentleman  sits  down  while  he 
talks?"  He  eased  himself  into  a  chair  without  wait 
ing  her  consent.  "Sit  down,  too,  Mary.  If  you're 
going  to  murder  me,  let's  make  it  a  comfortable 
affair  for  both  of  us." 

She  took  a  chair,  and  sat  alert  with  automatic 
held  in  her  lap.  "What  do  you  want?"  she  re 
peated. 

"First?"  he  replied  with  a  smile  of  amiable  frank 
ness,  "I've  got  to  say  that  on  the  surface  you  do 

267 


MARY  REGAN 

seem  to  have  every  reason  to  suspect  me.  The  way 
that  business  at  Le  Minuit  turned  out,  and  espe 
cially  the  way  Clifford  twisted  it,  it  did  look  as 
though  I'd  tried  to  do  you  dirt.  But  those  were 
only  the  looks  —  they  were  not  the  facts." 

"Do  you  mean  to  deny  that  that  affair  was  a 
frame-up?"  she  demanded  sharply. 

"I  do  not,  for  it  was,"  he  returned  promptly. 
"Further,  it  was  a  frame-up  chiefly  against  you. 
That  brings  me  to  the  point  that  made  me  hurry 
here  —  a  point  that  had  to  have  immediate  explana 
tion.  It  was  a  frame-up,  yes  —  but,  honest,  Mary, 
I  framed  you  for  your  own  good." 

"For  my  own  good!"  she  exclaimed  skeptically. 

"Exactly.  Listen,  Mary.  I  Ve  got  to  repeat  my 
self —  but  I  can't  help  that  if  I  am  to  make  myself 
clear.  Your  big  idea  in  this  secret  marriage  with 
Jack  Morton  has  grown  to  be  to  keep  Jack  at  work 
—  to  do  what  no  one  else  has  ever  been  able  to  do, 
make  a  man  out  of  him  —  so  that  after  a  time, 
when  the  big  blow-off  comes  and  they  find  out  who 
you  are,  you  will  have  established  yourself  so  thor 
oughly  by  the  service  you  have  rendered  that  the 
Mortons  will  have  to  overlook  everything  shady 
about  your  past  and  your  part  in  this  affair.  That 's 
the  way  you  had  it  doped  out  to  yourself,  now, 
is  n't  it?" 

Mary  did  not  answer. 

"That  was  your  plan  —  exactly.  And  your  plan, 
all  the  big  future  you  saw  for  yourself,  was  based 

268 


MARY  REGAN 

upon  your  making  a  man  out  of  Jack.  Mary,  — 
I  'm  talking  straight  goods  now,  —  I  saw  you  could 
never  make  a  man  out  of  Jack.  Nobody  could  or 
can.  The  stuff's  not  there.  I  saw  you  were  headed 
toward  certain  failure  —  and  wasting  good  months, 
and  big  chances,  in  trying  to  put  your  grand  dream 
across.  I  told  you  all  this  and  tried  to  talk  you 
out  of  it,  but  you  would  n't  listen  to  me.  So  I  de 
cided  to  try  to  prove  my  point  by  showing  you  the 
facts.  I  decided  to  frame  you. 

"To-night,  I  let  you  stumble  across,  as  if  by  ac 
cident,  Jack  chloroformed  by  grape  juice  and  in 
the  company  of  those  ladies.  I  admit  I  helped  lead 
Jack  into  that.  But  I  hoped  you  would  see  it  as  the 
real  thing,  see  how  hopeless  any  dream  was  that 
was  based  on  making  a  man  of  Jack  —  and  that 
you  would  quit  the  game  right  there.  But  my  little 
act  was  a  fizzle.  Still,  Mary,"  —  and  the  little  law 
yer's  voice  was  persuasively  emphatic,  —  "even 
though  Jack  was  led  into  this  to-night,  the  picture 
you  saw  of  him,  that  wine  and  woman  stuff,  is  an 
honest-to-God  picture  of  what  Jack  will  be  in  a  few 
months.  Broadway  has  n't  yet  got  him  completely 
—  but  Broadway  is  going  to  get  him !  I  'm  telling 
you,  Mary!" 

Mary's  face  was  expressionless.  "You  didn't 
come  here  merely  to  deliver  that  speech,  Peter 
Loveman." 

"Naturally,  there  is  something  else."  His  round, 
large  eyes  regarded  her  meditatively ;  then  he  leaned 

269 


MARY  REGAN 

forward.  "Mary,  I'm  going  to  lay  all  my  cards 
on  the  table.  First,  here's  a  bit  of  a  confession: 
I  hung  around  Le  Minuit,  and  heard  your  offer  to 
Mr.  Morton  to  straighten  Jack  out,  and  heard  him 
turn  you  down  flat,  and  saw  him  drive  away  with 
Jack." 

"Well?" 

"Was  n't  that  just  so  much  more  evidence  to  show 
you  that  your  big  dream  can  never,  never  come 
true?"  he  argued,  quietly,  but  with  the  driving  force 
of  the  great  lawyer  that  he  was.  "So  I  say  again,  for 
God's  sake,  drop  it  all!  And,  Mary,  —  you'd  never 
have  been  happy  even  if  you  had  worked  that  game 
with  the  Mortons.  You're  too  much  the  daughter 
of  'Gentleman  Jim'  Regan  for  that  sort  of  life  — 
your  father's  blood  would  have  sent  you  back  to  the 
old  ways. 

"Listen,  Mary,  —  the  sensible  thing  to  do  is  for  us 
all  to  cash  in  on  this  Morton  affair,  before  it  breaks. 
I  've  said  most  of  this  before,  but  I  've  got  to  say  it 
again.  Let  me  discover  the  secret  marriage  between 
you  and  Jack;  I'll  soak  Mr.  Morton  hard  for  a  de 
tective  bill,  and  give  you  a  half  of  what  he  pays. 
And  by  playing  the  thing  this  way,  I'll  keep  solid 
with  Mr.  Morton  and  will  be  in  a  position  where 
I  can  milk  him  for  a  long  time  to  come.  And  then, 
of  course,  you  '11  make  him  pay  big  for  a  divorce  — 
Morton  will  want  to  hush  the  matter  up  as  far  as 
he  can,  and  he  '11  want  to  keep  details  out  of  court. 
And  since  I'll  be  representing  Mr.  Morton,  I  can 

270 


MARY  REGAN 

put  you  wise  to  the  very  limit  he  '11  pay.  What  you 
get  there  will  be  all  your  own ;  I  '11  get  mine  out  of 
handling  Mr.  Morton's  end.  And  that  business  all 
settled,  and  you  with  the  name  of  Mrs.  Jack  Morton 
—  why,  there 's  nothing  big  we  could  n't  put  across 
as  team-mates!  And  everything  safe  —  and  every 
thing  big!  And  a  little  later,  if  you  wanted  it,  I 
could,  by  watching  chances  and  playing  the  cards 
right,  help  you  make  a  marriage  that  would  be  a 
headliner  in  regard  to  wealth  and  respectability  and 
position.  Don't  you  see  it  all !" 

She  saw  it,  and  it  was  a  dazzling  vision  of  its  own 
kind.  Moreover,  she  knew  this  shrewd  little  lawyer 
could  bring  it  all  to  pass.  And  among  other  things 
his  plan  offered  was  the  definite  and  immediate 
chance  to  strike  vengefully  at  Mr.  Morton,  who  an 
hour  before  had  so  coolly  rebuffed  her  when,  swayed 
by  unaccustomed  emotion,  she  had  made  him  the 
proposal  to  devote  herself  to  Jack. 

At  length  she  spoke.  "That  was  another  good 
speech,  Peter,"  she  said  quietly,  "but  you  didn't 
come  here  merely  to  deliver  that  speech  either. 
Just  what  is  the  big  thing  that's  in  your  mind?" 

"Why,  that  you  should  drop  your  present  game, 
instanter,  and  switch  to  something  worth  while." 

"That's  not  what  brought  you  here  between  two 
and  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,"  she  insisted 
steadily. 

He  shifted  slightly.  "  It's  like  this,  Mary,"  he  said 
abruptly,  changing  from  his  persuasive  tone  —  "you 

271 


MARY  REGAN 

and  I  went  into  this  thing  together,  and  I  hope 
we're  going  to  stick  it  out  together  along  the  lines 
I  Ve  just  suggested.  But  matters  took  such  a  twist 
with  to-night's  events  that  I  had  to  know  defin 
itely,  at  once,  whether  you  were  going  to  work 
along  with  me." 

"And  that's  the  question  you  really  want  an 
swered?" 

"It  is.  And  I'm  hoping  your  answer  is  going  to 
be 'yes.'" 

"  I  do  not  know  what  I  am  going  to  do,"  she  said 
quietly,  her  dark  eyes  fixed  upon  his  large  blue  ones. 
"But  whatever  I  do,  I  shall  do  alone  and  exactly  as 
I  please." 

He  slowly  wet  his  full,  loose  lips.  "Is  that 
final?" 

"It  is." 

"  You  mean  that  you  are  going  to  leave  me  out 
of  it." 

"I  am  not  going  to  think  of  you  one  way  or  the 
other."  She  stood  up.  "If  that  is  all  you  came  for, 
I  suggest  you  now  say  good-night." 

His  soft  hands  gripped  the  arms  of  his  chair. 
Fury  flamed  within  him ;  words  of  menace  surged  to 
his  lips.  But  Peter  Loveman  never  had  more  self- 
possession  than  when  his  situation  was  most  danger 
ous  —  and  dangerous  he  certainly  now  felt  it  to  be. 
So  as  he  rose  he  smiled  with  good-natured  regret. 

"I'm  sorry  it's  all  off,  Mary;  it  would  have 
been  big  for  us  both.  But  you  have  the  right  to 

272 


MARY  REGAN 

do  as  you  choose.  Well,  good  luck  to  you  —  and 
good-night." 

With  a  look  of  almost  fatherly  benignity,  Love- 
man  went  out.  Mary  suspected  that  regretful, 
genial  smile  —  but  she  thought  of  it  only  for  a  mo 
ment,  for  the  next  instant  her  mind  was  on  other 
things.  She  switched  out  her  lights,  and  stepping 
to  a  window  she  looked  out  into  the  deep  silence  of 
the  night. 

What  should  she  do?  At  last  she  was  alone  face 
to  face  with  her  life's  greatest  crisis.  She  had  played 
for  big  game  —  for  wealth  and  worldly  position  — 
and  she  had  played  daringly  —  and  now,  at  the 
end,  after  all  her  time  and  bold  dreams  and  care 
and  cleverness,  it  seemed  that  she  had  lost,  and 
lost  finally,  unalterably.  And  after  all,  even  had 
she  won,  would  the  winning  have  been  worth  the 
while?  .  .  . 

And  then  there  was  a  resurgence  of  that  self-con 
fidence,  that  determination,  which  were  such  strong 
elements  of  her  nature.  Should  she  not  make  one  last 
desperate  effort  to  carry  through  her  plan,  despite 
them  all?  Her  resentment  toward  Jack's  cold, 
worldly  father  suddenly  flamed  high.  Just  to  balk 
the  older  Morton  she  would  like  to  save  Jack  and 
win  out  herself. 

But  how  might  it  be  done?  .  .  .  Almost  uncon 
sciously  her  mind  began  to  revert  with  nervous  in 
tensity  to  certain  methods  of  that  period  spent  under 
the  influence  of  her  father  and  later  of  her  uncle  Joe 

273 


MARY  REGAN 

—  that  period  of  artful  criminality  that  she  had 
long  thought  of  as  forever  ended.  By  use  of  her  old 
skill  she  might  so  outwit  Jack's  father,  might  so 
involve  him,  that  he  would  gladly  come  to  terms. 

She  stood  there  in  the  silent  dark,  thinking  fever 
ishly. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

TWO   PLEASANT  GENTLEMEN 

WHEN  Clifford  saw  Loveman  leave  the  apartment 
house  and  cross  rapidly  to  his  cab,  he  waited  to  see 
no  more.  His  next  move,  as  he  had  planned  it,  was 
based  upon  conjecture,  and  it  had  to  be  executed 
without  a  lost  moment.  He  ran  back  to  his  waiting 
taxi-cab,  gave  the  chauffeur  Loveman's  address,  and 
thrust  a  ten-dollar  bill  into  the  man's  hands. 

''Keep  the  change,  and  forget  the  speed  laws," 
Clifford  exclaimed  as  he  sprang  in. 

Five  minutes  later  the  rocking  machine  turned 
into  Loveman's  street.  Save  for  his  own  car,  the 
street  was  empty.  Not  waiting  for  the  machine  to 
slow  down,  Clifford  called  "Beat  it!"  to  the  chauf 
feur,  leaped  to  the  curb  and  walked  rapidly  into 
Loveman's  apartment  house.  At  the  end  of  the  cor 
ridor  a  negro  youth  lay  loosely  a-sprawl  and  snoring 
on  the  telephone  switchboard,  and  the  elevator 
door  stood  open.  The  sight  reassured  Clifford  on 
one  point:  he  had  beaten  Loveman  to  his  home  — 
that  is,  if  Loveman's  purpose  had  been  to  come 
home. 

Noiselessly,  Clifford  crossed  to  the  stairway  beside 
the  elevator  and  ran  up  flight  after  flight,  until  he 
came  breathlessly  to  the  twelfth  floor,  the  floor  above 

275 


MARY  REGAN 

Loveman's  studio  apartment.  He  let  himself  through 
a  door  with  a  latch-key,  and  the  next  moment,  sit 
ting  in  the  darkness,  he  had  on  the  headpiece  of  a 
dictagraph  whose  wires  ran  down  into  the  lofty 
studio  which  Loveman  used  as  his  library.  Two  or 
three  minutes  passed  —  then  he  heard  some  one 
enter  below  —  then  he  heard  a  deep,  gruff,  unmis 
takable  voice :  — 

"God,  Loveman  —  thought  you  were  never  going 
to  show  up." 

His  conjecture  had  been  correct.  There  had  been 
planned  a  prompt  conference  to  follow  that  night's 
all-important  undertaking. 

"Been  held  up,  Bradley,  —  everything's  gone 
wrong!"  Loveman's  usual  smooth  voice  was  now 
more  like  a  snarl. 

"Gone  wrong!"  exclaimed  Bradley. 

"Yes,  the  whole  dam'  works!" 

"But  how  the  hell,  Loveman — " 

"I  can't  explain  here,"  Loveman  snappily  inter 
rupted.  "  It 's  not  safe.  Clifford 's  got  a  dictagraph 
planted  somewhere  in  this  room." 

"The  hell  you  say!   But  how  do  you  know?" 

"He  quoted  something  to-night  which  you  and  I 
had  said  —  something  which  we  said  when  alone 
in  this  room." 

"Damn  him!"  growled  Bradley.  "Why  didn't 
I  go  ahead,  instead  of  minding  you,  and  have  him 
bumped  off  when  I  wanted  to!"  And  then:  "Let's 
look  around  and  rip  out  his  damned  machine." 

276 


MARY  REGAN 

"There's  no  telling  where  his  wires  run.  Besides, 
there 's  not  time.  There 's  a  chance  that  he  may  be 
trailing  me  here  — " 

"Come  on,  then,"  snapped  the  brusque  voice  of 
Bradley.  "If  he  comes  up,  let's  croak  him.  Leave 
your  door  open  and  we  can  pull  him  in  here  and  do 
the  job.  Then  you  can  say  he  got  into  your  flat  and 
you  shot  him  in  self-defense,  thinking  he  was  a 
burglar." 

Voices  ceased;  footsteps  crossed  the  room  below. 
Removing  the  annunciator,  Clifford  slipped  out  into 
the  hallway  and  cautiously  peered  down  the  well 
of  the  stairway.  On  Loveman's  landing  he  saw  two 
shadowy,  crouching  figures,  and  in  the  hand  of  the 
lawyer  he  saw  a  dim  something  which  he  knew  to  be 
a  pistol.  Instinctively  he  drew  his  automatic  and 
waited. 

Five  minutes  passed  —  ten  minutes.  The  figures 
below  still  maintained  their  moveless  ambuscade. 
Every  moment  Clifford  expected  them  to  turn  their 
suspicion  and  their  search  upwards;  in  that  event, 
with  that  pair  in  their  present  mood,  it  would  mean 
bullets  to  the  finish.  Clifford  did  not  wish  such  a 
turn  to  the  situation,  even  were  he  to  come  out  the 
victor;  he  wanted  to  carry  this  case  much  further j 
to  have  much  more  direct  evidence  of  the  practices 
of  the  pair,  before  the  end  should  come.  But  he  held 
himself  tensely  ready. 

But  his  foresight  and  quick  action  had  saved  him 
an  encounter:  the  pair  thought  only  of  the  possibil- 

277 


MARY  REGAN 

ity  that  Clifford  might  have  followed  Loveman,  and 
never  that  he  might  have  preceded  Loveman  here. 
Presently,  a  low  voice  ascended  to  him  —  Brad- 
ley's. 

"Guess  he's  not  trailed  you,  Loveman.  Come  on, 
I  want  the  dope  on  what  happened  to-night.  Clifford 
can't  have  your  whole  joint  wired;  let's  go  into  your 
bathroom  —  he  can't  have  touched  that." 

They  withdrew  and  a  moment  later  Clifford  heard 
a  door  close.  He  slipped  down,  waited  a  space  at 
Loveman's  door,  and  then,  after  a  few  moments'  ma 
nipulation  with  a  skeleton  key,  he  noiselessly  opened 
it  and  softly  stepped  inside.  The  hallway  was  dark, 
but  at  one  end  was  an  open  door  from  which  light 
streamed.  Toward  this  he  slipped  with  a  cat's  tread, 
and  peeped  in.  He  saw  the  bathroom,  as  large  as  an 
ordinary  New  York  bedroom,  finished  in  marble  and 
white-tile,  and  in  it  sat  little  Loveman  and  the  big- 
chested  Bradley. 

In  a  low  voice  Loveman  briefly  outlined  the 
fiasco  of  their  careful  scheme  at  Le  Minuit.  Bradley 
swore  —  and  Clifford  was  the  chief  object  of  his 
guttural  fury. 

"What  we  goin'  to  do  next?" 

41 1  've  done  one  thing  already.  I  beat  it  straight  to 
Mary  Regan." 

"What  for?" 

"She's  too  good  a  thing  to  lose  if  we  can  hold 
her ;  so  I  tried  to  con  her  into  believing  I  *d  framed 
her  for  her  own  good.  But  that 's  not  the  real  reason 

278 


MARY  REGAN 

—  the  big  reason."      Loveman's  usually   smooth 
voice  was  now  nervous  and  tense.    "Don't  you  see 
the  fix  she's  got  me  in?    She  knows  enough  about 
me  to  get  me  disbarred,  if  she  cared  to  talk  —  and 
perhaps  get  me  a  prison  sentence  on  top  of  it  — 
and  perhaps  get  you  sent  away,  too.   So  I  simply 
had  to  have  her  on  our  side,  if  I  could  get  her." 

"Well,  what  did  she  say?" 

"She  turned  me  down  cold  —  said  she  was  through 
with  me." 

Again  Bradley  swore.  "Well,  if  you're  afraid  of 
her,  why  don't  you  beat  her  to  that  big  stiff  Morton 

—  tell  him  who  she  is  and  what  she's  done?    You 
can  get  away  with  it." 

"Telling  Morton  has  got  to  be  my  last  move. 
It's  too  dangerous —  I  might  implicate  myself." 

"Well,  what  you  going  to  do?" 

"My  chief  business  has  got  to  be  Mary  Regan," 
Loveman  answered  grimly — "fixing  her  so  she 
can't  hurt  me,  and  doing  it  quick." 

"You  mean  croaking  her?" 

"That  raw  stuff  don't  go  with  me,  Bradley.  I 'm 
not  so  tired  that  I  'm  willing  to  run  the  risk  of  sit 
ting  in  the  electric  chair  up  at  Sing  Sing." 

"There's  a  lot  of  things  besides  being  croaked 
that  can  happen  to  a  woman  in  this  town,"  said 
Bradley.  "The  way  that  Mrs.  Dormer  case  was 
worked  ain't  so  bad;  it's  always  good  for  a  re 
peat.  Mysterious  disappearance  until  the  danger 
is  over.  You  can  always  handle  a  woman  so  she'll 

279 


MARY  REGAN 

have  nothing  much  to  say  about  the  time  she  was 
missing." 

"Too  risky." 

"How  about  smearing  her?  That  would  help 
some,  if  it  was  done  proper." 

"I  don't  know  what  it's  going  to  be  yet  —  but 
it's  going  to  be  something  mighty  soon."  He  spoke 
with  nervous  incisiveness.  "With  you  and  Hilton 
and  Nan  Burdette  and  Nina  Cordova,  there'll  be 
plenty  of  people.  Your  first  job  will  be  to  keep  Mary 
Regan  covered  night  and  day,  so  we  can  act  the 
minute  we're  ready.  I  '11  have  something  doped  out 
by  morning,  and  I  '11  let  you  know.  Come  on,  let 's 
see  if  there  is  n't  a  cold  bottle  in  the  ice-chest." 

Clifford  stole  swiftly  and  noiselessly  out.  Fifteen 
minutes  later  he  was  calling  his  name  through  Mary 
Regan's  door;  and  after  a  ten  minutes'  wait  he  was 
in  her  presence.  During  those  minutes  he  had  done 
much  thinking. 

"Do  you  still  control  the  lease  to  the  apartment 
you  had  in  the  Mordona?"  he  asked  quietly. 

She  was  bewildered.  "Yes.  Jack  and  I  took  it 
until  the  first  of  October.  Why?" 

"Then  you  still  have  a  key  to  the  apartment?" 

"Yes." 

"How  much  baggage  do  you  have  here?  Not 
much,  I  hope." 

"A  steamer  trunk,  and  a  bag." 

"  Pack  them.  In  half  an  hour  you  move  back  to 
the  Mordona." 

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MARY  REGAN 

"Back  to  the  Mordona!"  she  exclaimed.  "What 
for?" 

He  told  her  something  of  the  formless  danger  in 
which  she  stood.  ' '  To  be  safe  for  the  present,  you  Ve 
got  to  be  where  no  one  will  find  you.  And  the  Mor 
dona  is  about  the  last  place  any  one  will  look  for 
you.  I  '11  get  a  car  from  Headquarters  to  move  you, 
and  you'll  leave  no  trail  from  here." 

There  was  rapid  packing  —  a  silent  carrying- 
down  of  baggage  — -  a  ride  through  the  night  in  a 
car  that  could  be  traced  from  no  taxi  station  —  and 
Mary  Regan  was  once  more  in  the  apartment  in  the 
Mordona,  where,  months  before,  her  glowing  dream 
had  changed  to  a  sober,  patient,  cautious  struggle  to 
re-make  Jack  Morton  into  a  man. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
A  FATHER'S  HOPE 

THE  next  day  the  first  open  move  in  this  struggle 
was  made  —  a  minor  development,  perhaps  signi 
fying  no  more  in  the  unfolding  of  events  than  their 
delay.  Clifford  learned  of  it  when  he  dropped  into 
the  Grand  Alcazar  the  following  evening  on  the 
chance  of  finding  Uncle  George. 

"Hello,  son  —  sit  in  with  me  on  a  little  drink  of 
this  here  wine  drowned  in  seltzer,"  said  the  old 
man.  And  when  Clifford  was  seated,  he  drawled  on, 
a  solemn  eye  on  his  glass.  "Son,  I  Ve  been  tapering 
fast  toward  prohibition.  In  another  month  I  '11  be 
a  bone-dry  state.  But  I  'm  such  a  weak  creature  of 
habit,  son,  that  I  know  I  '11  just  keep  on  tapering. 
I'm  a  worried  man,  and  here's  what's  worrying 
me :  after  I  Ve  reached  water,  and  am  still  tapering, 
what  am  I  going  to  drink  next?  What's  the  answer? 
I  tell  you  what,  son,  it's  an  awful  problem  I  got  to 
face  single-handed  and  single-livered  and  all  alone 
in  the  world  —  this  getting  good  so  sudden  and  so 
fast  that  I  can't  stop  myself.  Why,  man,  when  I 
hit  heaven,  I  'm  afraid  I  '11  have  up  so  much  speed 
that  I'll  shoot  clean  through." 

Clifford  made  no  response;  he  knew  none  was 
expected.  He  gave  solemn  gaze  for  solemn  gaze. 

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MARY  REGAN 

Then  Uncle  George  permitted  his  bald  left  eyelid 
to  droop  in  a  slight  wink. 

"Son,  I  been  doing  a  little  private  blood-hounding 
—  in  my  own  special  delicate  motor-truck  fashion. 
The  czar  and  the  little  czarevitch  have  fled  from 
the  capital  to  Siberia." 

"Meaning  who?" 

"Meaning  Mr.  Morton  and  one  freshly  recovered 
son." 

Clifford  was  at  once  interested.  "You  talked  with 
them?" 

"Yes.  Over  at  the  Biltmore.  The  father  don't 
suspect  how  good  I  am  —  therefore  he  does  n't 
mind  chinning  with  me  a  bit  when  we  meet." 

"Where  are  they  going?  —  what  are  they  going 
to  do?  Did  he  tell  you?" 

"Son,  my  intellect  may  not  be  what  it  once  was, 
but  a  gentleman  does  n't  have  to  tell  me  anything 
for  me  to  know  what  he's  going  to  do.  We  talked 
baseball;  I  was  willing  to  put  two  bits  on  the 
Giants  to  win  the  pennant  next  season  —  from 
which  I  learned  that  Mr.  Morton  was  going  to  beat 
it  far  from  the  night-blooming  anemone  of  Broad 
way  and  the  tender  folk-songs  of  the  cabarets — 
and  that  he  was  going  to  give  his  only  offspring  the 
advantage  of  his  direct,  undivided,  and  unsleeping 
personal  attention." 

Clifford  nodded.  This  fitted  in  with  Mr.  Morton's 
determination  announced  the  night  before  in  front 
of  Le  Minuit  when  he  had  refused  Mary's  offer  — 

283 


MARY  REGAN 

his  cool  decision  that  he  was  now  going  to  handle 
Jack.  Well,  he  was  a  master  at  directing  men,  at 
bending  them  to  his  will ;  now  that  he  had  set  him 
self  to  the  task,  perhaps  he  might  also  really  manage 
Jack. 

Though  Mr.  Morton  was  out  of  the  city,  Clifford 
privately  kept  watch  on  Mary,  half  expecting  that 
her  pride  and  her  temperish  self-confidence  would 
get  the  better  of  her  caution  and  impel  her  into  that 
vaguely  hinted  action  against  Jack's  father.  He 
tried  to  think  out  what  course  might  be  brewing  in 
her  mind.  He  remembered  that  Mr.  Morton,  ignor 
ant  of  her  true  relationship  to  Jack,  had  tried  to 
make  love  to  her  —  the  passing  love  of  a  worldly 
man;  and  he  knew  that  Mary  was  capable  of  play 
ing  any  part.  She  might,  in  her  desire  to  even  mat 
ters  with  Mr.  Morton,  and  reckless  of  herself  and 
her  own  name,  lead  him  on,  always  eluding  him, 
until  —  well,  there  was  no  guessing  what  Mary, 
bitter  and  reckless,  might  attempt.  But  whatever 
she  might  try,  she  would  carry  through. 

Also  —  with  the  help  of  Lieutenant  Jimmie  Kelly, 
and  the  confidential  aid  of  Commissioner  Thome  — 
he  privately  watched  Bradley  and  Loveman,  alert 
for  signs  of  attempt  to  carry  out  their  self-protecting 
scheme  against  Mary.  But  Mary's  hiding  was  a 
temporary  check  alike  to  herself  and  the  two  men, 
and  the  next  development  in  this  complicated  human 
drama  was  to  have  its  inception  in  another  quarter. 

Uneventful  weeks  passed;  spring  grew  into  sum- 
284 


MARY  REGAN 

mer;  and  then  one  evening  Clifford  was  surprised 
with  a  message  from  Mr.  Morton  asking  him  to  call 
at  once  at  the  Biltmore.  Clifford  went  to  the  Bilt- 
more,  wondering  what  lay  behind  this  unexpected 
summons.  Mr.  Morton  admitted  him  to  his  sitting- 
room  and  asked  him  to  be  seated. 

There  was  a  litter  of  mail  upon  the  table  —  evi 
dently  an  accumulation  of  correspondence  that  had 
not  been  forwarded.  As  Clifford  sat  down  his  eyes 
were  caught  and  sharply  arrested  by  an  open  letter. 
He  recognized  the  writing  —  it  was  Mary's;  and 
almost  before  he  knew  what  he  was  doing  he  had 
read  this  fragment :  — 

I  have  been  thinking  your  suggestion  all  over  —  and 
possibly,  possibly,  if  it  were  repeated  — 

Mr.  Morton,  who  had  followed  Clifford's  eyes, 
reached  sharply  forward,  and  snatched  up  the  letter. 

"  Pardon  my  seeing  it  —  I  could  n't  help  it,"  said 
Clifford.  And  then :  "  I  remember  you  offered  to  take 
the  writer  of  that  letter  on  a  very  private  cruise.  I 
suppose  she  has  now  consented?" 

"That's  none  of  your  business!"  snapped  Mr. 
Morton,  pocketing  the  letter. 

So,  then,  Mary  did  have  some  plan  under  way! 

"Mr:  Clifford,"  Mr.  Morton  said  abruptly,  then 
paused.  Clifford  now  perceived  that  the  usually 
composed  and  masterful  financier  was  in  a  state  of 
nerves  which  he  was  trying  his  utmost  to  control. 
"  Mr.  Clifford,  some  time  ago  I  asked  you  to  help  me 

285 


MARY  REGAN 

with  my  son.  I  have  sent  for  you  to  ask  you  that 
again." 

"Help  you!"  Clifford  wanted  a  bit  of  information 
on  a  certain  point,  so  he  pretended  a  greater  ignor 
ance  than  was  actually  his.  "Why,  I  supposed  you 
had  taken  Jack  off,  braced  him  up,  and  brought 
about  the  marriage  you  once  told  me  was  your  chief 
desire  for  Jack —  to  Miss  Maisie  Jones.  I  supposed 
Jack  and  she  were  on  their  honeymoon." 

"That  affair  is  all  off,"  the  father  said  briefly. 

"What!   Definitely?" 

"Her  aunt  wrote  saying  that  Maisie  no  longer 
cared  for  Jack.  I  wrote  to  Maisie,  and  she  con 
firmed  it.  She  was  unchangeable." 

So,  then,  Maisie  Jones  had  fulfilled  her  promise 
to  Mary. 

"To  repeat,"  Mr.  Morton  went  on,  "I  have  sent 
for  you  to  ask  you  again  to  help  me  with  Jack." 

"  My  answer  now  must  be  the  same  as  when  you 
asked  help  of  me  before:  I  can't  say  until  I  know 
the  situation.  And  even  then  I  must  reserve  the 
privilege  to  act  as  I  think  best." 

"All  right.   Have  it  your  own  way." 

"  First,  tell  me  what  has  happened  since  you  took 
charge  of  Jack  that  night  at  Le  Minuit?" 

"  I  took  him  to  a  mountain  hotel  in  Maine,  hoping 
that  away  from  all  his  old  associates  I  could  manage 
him  more  easily.  But  he  kept  me  awake  night  and 
day,  and  even  then  he  was  always  eluding  me  and 
finding  road-houses  where  the  prohibition  law  did  n't 

286 


MARY  REGAN 

exist.  Yesterday  he  got  away  altogether.  I  know 
he's  somewhere  in  New  York.  I  want  you  to  help 
me  find  him." 

"  I  thought  you  had  Mr.  Bradley  retained  for  such 
service." 

"I  have,  and  I've  already  notified  him.  But  I 
don't  trust  Mr.  Bradley  as  far  as  I  once  did.  That's 
why  I'm  asking  you  to  help.  Will  you?" 

Clifford  felt  the  irony  of  it  —  that  he  should  once 
more  be  called  in  to  save  the  man  Mary  Regan  had 
married  instead  of  himself.  But  he  nodded. 

"That  may  be  easy  enough  if  Jack  is  in  any  of 
the  regular  joy-joints.  But  it  will  be  hard  if  any 
of  the  sharps  have  got  him  in  tow.  Come  on." 

Leading  the  way,  Clifford  began  a  careful  search 
of  the  gayer  restaurants  of  Broadway.   He  picked 
up  Lieutenant  Jimmie  Kelly.  The  search  was  rapid, 
for  it  had  not  to  go  beyond  the  entrances ;  Clifford 
knew  the  door-men  and  managers  of  every  resort, 
and  Jack  Morton  was  a  well-known  figure  to  all.  To 
them  Clifford  put   the  same  question  —  "Young 
Mr.  Morton  in  here?"  —  and  all  answered  honestly, 
having  a  very  substantial  fear  of  Clifford  and  Jimmie 
Kelly,  and  an  earnest  desire  to  retain  their  licenses. 
At  length,  toward  one  o'clock,  they  came  to  Le 
Minuit;  and  of  the  proprietor,  Monsieur  Le  Bain, 
Clifford  asked  the  usual  question.  Monsieur  Le  Bain 
replied  that  Jack  was  there,  and  led  the  way  through 
the  din  of  his  "authentic  Hawaiian  orchestra"  and 
the  hilarity  of  his  hundreds  of  pleasure- fevered 

287 


MARY  REGAN 

guests,  down  a  little  corridor  off  his  "imperial  ball 
room."  He  started  to  open  the  door  at  the  end  of 
this  little  hallway,  —  the  door  to  his  most  exclusive 
private  room,  —  but  Clifford  checked  his  hand. 

"Needn't  bother,  Le  Bain,  —  you  can  go  on 
back,"  said  Clifford.  "And,  Jimmie,"  —  to  the 
little  lieutenant,  as  Le  Bain  went  gliding  away,  — 
"I  wish  you'd  hang  around,  where  you  won't  be 
noticed  much,  so  you'll  be  handy  if  needed." 

"All  right,  Bob,"  returned  Lieutenant  Jimmie. 

Clifford  opened  the  door  and  pressed  the  elder 
Morton  ahead  of  him  into  a  dining-room  of  gray- 
and-gold.  What  he  saw  was  almost  the  same  as  he 
had  seen  in  Le  Minuit  many  weeks  before:  here  were 
Nina  Cordova,  Nan  Burdette,  Hilton,  and  Jack  — 
the  only  difference  being  that  Jack,  then  in  a  stupor, 
was  now  joyously  maudlin. 

"Why,  h'lo,  dad,"  he  said,  swaying  up,  a  hand 
some,  flushed,  boyish  figure.  "Welcome  home!  Pull 
up  chair,  have  liT  ole  drink,  'n'  meet  m'  frien's. 
'NJ  there 's  Clifford  —  good  ole  scout  Clifford  —  meet 
m'  frien's.  Everybody  have  'nother  liT  ole  drink." 

The  other  three  had  risen.  "I'll  take  it  as  a 
favor  if  you'll  all  say  good-night,"  Mr.  Morton  said 
shortly.  "  I  want  to  speak  to  my  son." 

"So  do  we,"  returned  Nina  Cordova  in  her  most 
pertly  charming  manner,  which  she  figured  as  irre 
sistible.  "Jack  invited  us  to  his  little  party,  and 
we're  not  going  to  insult  the  dear  boy  by  walking 
out  on  him." 

288 


MARY  REGAN 

"Get  out  —  all  of  you!"  Mr.  Morton's  jaws 
snapped  together. 

"See  here,  we  don't  stand  for  that  line  of  talk, 
and  we're  not  going,"  bristled  Hilton. 

Clifford  caught  Hilton  by  the  wrist,  and  gave  the 
arm  a  twist  that  made  the  man  drop  sidewise  to  one 
knee  and  groan.  "You  are  all  going,  and,  Hilton, 
you  go  first,"  —  and  he  thrust  him  through  the 
door.  He  turned  to  Nan  Burdette,  and  the  star  of 
the  long-faded  "Orange  Blossoms."  "If  you  two 
want  to  avoid  trouble,"  he  said  shortly,  "you'll  fol 
low  Mr.  Hilton  right  out." 

They  glowered  at  Clifford,  but  started  to  obey. 
"See  here,"  hiccoughed  young  Morton,  "'f  my 
frien's  go,  I  go  too,"  —  and  he  swayed  toward  the 
door. 

But  Clifford  sharply  closed  the  door  upon  the 
pair,  blocked  Jack's  way,  and  laid  a  detaining  hand 
upon  Jack's  shoulder.  "Stay  with  me,  Jack,"  he  said, 
"and  we'll  have  that  little  old  drink  together." 

"Don'  wan'  drink  with  you.  Coin'  with  m' 
frien's." 

A  stubborn,  vicious  look  had  come  into  Jack's 
face,  a  look  that  Clifford  knew  meant  trouble.  "Just 
one  little  old  drink,  Jack,  and  then  you  can  go  with 
your  friends." 

Jack  regarded  Clifford's  impeding  figure,  and 
grinned  cunningly.  "All  ri'  —  jus'  one  drink." 

"He's  already  had  too  damned  much,"  growled 
the  elder  Morton. 

289 


MARY  REGAN 

Clifford  gave  the  father  an  imperative,  knowing 
look,  pushed  Jack  down  into  his  chair,  and  pressed 
a  button.  ''Send  Monsieur  Le  Bain,"  he  said  to  the 
answering  waiter;  and  to  Jack:  " I'm  going  to  order 
the  drinks,  Jack,  and  we're  going  to  switch  to  high 
balls  —  and  we  're  going  to  see  if  this  dump  has 
some  Scotch  that's  really  Scotch." 

As  Le  Bain  appeared,  Clifford  stepped  quickly  to 
the  door,  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  and  returned  to  the 
table.  Presently  Le  Bain  himself  entered  with  three 
glasses  which  he  set  down  in  careful  order  before  the 
men,  and  then  withdrew. 

"Here's  how,"  said  Clifford,  and  sipped  his  glass. 
Jack  tossed  his  down  and  rose  unsteadily. 

"Now,  guess  I'll  go  find  m'  frien's,"  he  de 
clared. 

"Not  yet,  Jack,"  —  and  Clifford  pushed  him 
again  back  into  place.  "There's  going  to  be  one 
more  round,  and  it's  on  you.  I  gave  Le  Bain  the 
order." 

Mr.  Morton,  not  touching  his  glass,  sharply 
watched  the  two.  Jack  grinned  cunningly  at  Clif 
ford;  then  his  face  became  vacuous,  heavy;  and  then 
he  slumped  forward,  and  head  and  shoulders  lay 
inertly  among  the  wine-glasses  and  the  dishes  of 
the  interrupted  supper. 

"What's  happened  to  him?"  the  father  asked 
sharply. 

"Doped." 

"Doped?  What  for?" 

290 


MARY  REGAN 

"  Did  n't  you  see  there  was  no  handling  him  in  the 
mood  he  was  in?  Le  Bain  keeps  his  own  knock-out 
drops  for  use  on  customers  who  become  obstreper 
ous  —  and  I  ordered  him  to  fix  Jack's  drink.  The 
dose  is  light  —  it  won't  hurt  him."  Clifford  ab 
ruptly  changed  the  subject.  "Well,  you've  got 
Jack.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him?" 

Mr.  Morton  did  not  answer;  his  proud,  powerful 
face,  now  pale,  was  fixed  upon  his  son.  Clifford  also 
shifted  his  gaze  to  the  huddled  figure.  Despite 
everything,  Clifford  really  liked  this  good-natured 
piece  of  driftwood  which  washed  so  irresponsibly 
upon  this  great  tide  of  pleasure.  But  what  he  felt 
most  strongly  at  this  moment  was  the  ironical 
caprice  of  Destiny,  which  had  enlarged  so  minor 
and  will-less  a  figure,  a  mere  pawn  in  this  big 
human  game,  into  so  all-important  a  factor  in  Mary 
Regan's  life,  and  his  own  —  and  in  the  designs  of 
many  persons. 

Clifford  turned  to  the  father.  "Well  — what 
next?"  he  prompted. 

"I  wish  to  God  I  knew!"  Mr.  Morton  burst  out, 
his  reserve  suddenly  leaving  him.  "See  what  he's 
come  to!  See  what  he's  done  to  himself!" 

"He  did  n't  do  it  —  at  least  not  all,"  Clifford  said 
quietly. 

"Who  did,  then?" 

"Several  persons  —  but  chiefly  his  father." 

"His  father!"  An  angry  flush  tinted  the  older 
man's  cheeks. 

291 


MARY  REGAN 

"Jack  was  not  unusually  bad  or  weak,  and  he  was 
naturally  most  likable.  He  would  have  turned  out 
well  enough  if  his  father  had  trained  him  right  from 
the  start  and  placed  a  man's  responsibilities — " 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  any  damned  sermon!"  the 
other  interrupted.   "What's  done,  is  done!  I  've  got 
to  face  the  present.   I  've  done  all  I  can  to  save  him 
-and  I've  failed!" 

He  paused,  then  went  on  in  savage  desperation. 
"And  if  anything  is  going  to  be  done,  it's  got  to  be 
done  quick!  I've  controlled  him,  to  an  extent,  by 
controlling  his  money.  But  a  fool  aunt  of  his  died 
the  other  day,  and  left  him  a  legacy  of  two  hundred 
thousand  which  automatically  becomes  his  on  his 
twenty-fifth  birthday  —  and  he'll  be  twenty-five  in 
a  month.  If  he's  not  got  hold  of  before  he  gets  that 
money,  then  the  last  chance  is  gone!" 

He  was  silent  a  moment.  Then  came  another 
burst,  even  more  desperate. 

"God,  can't  you  see  what  it  means  to  me?  —  my 
only  son!  —  all  the  plans  I  Ve  built  on  him!  —  and 
him  come  to  this!  For  God's  sake,  is  n't  there  any 
thing  that  can  be  done  to  save  him!" 

Clifford  regarded  him  steadily.  But  there  had 
suddenly  begun  a  wild  pounding  of  his  heart. 

"There  is  just  one  thing  that  might  possibly  save 
your  son." 

"What's  that?"  the  other  cried  quickly. 

Clifford  hesitated,  while  the  struggle  which  had  so 
swiftly  arisen  within  himself  fought  itself  out. 

292 


MARY  REGAN 

In  spite  of  all  that  had  happened,  a  dream 
had  persisted  in  him.  If  he  spoke  the  thought 
that  was  in  his  mind,  and  if  that  suggestion  were 
accepted  and  carried  to  a  successful  conclusion, 
it  would  mean  the  end,  forever,  of  this  persistent 
dream.  .  .  . 

And  yet  —  there  was  that  plan  and  purpose  that 
had  guided  his  attitude  toward  Mary  Regan  these 
many  months :  that  Mary  should  be  allowed  to  play 
her  hand  out  —  that  Life  should  test  her. 

And  then,  in  a  flash,  he  was  seeing  again  the  letter 
he  had  glimpsed  when  he  had  entered  Mr.  Morton's 
room  at  the  Biltmore  —  that  letter  with  its  unmis 
takable  intimation.  A  flame  of  anger  went  searingly 
through  him.  Well,  given  into  his  hands  was  a 
method  of  putting  Mary  to  the  uttermost  test  —  of 
proving  who  and  what  she  was:  and  a  method  of 
bringing  this  whole  matter  to  a  head  —  for  Mary  — 
for  everybody. 

"What  is  it,  man?"  Mr.  Morton  repeated. 

"You  would  n't  pay  the  price,"  said  Clifford. 

"If  I  could  get  results  I'd  pay  any  price!" 

"I'm  not  so  sure  you  would,  but  I'll  try  you." 
Clifford  stepped  to  the  little  wall  telephone,  done  in 
gray-and-gold  to  match  the  room,  and  asked  for 
Mary's  number  at  the  Mordona.  After  a  long  wait 
Mary's  voice  sounded  on  the  wire. 

"This  is  Clifford,"  he  said.  "I  want  to  see  you 
at  once  at  Le  Minuit  —  very  important.  Ask  Le 
Bain  to  show  you  where  I  am.  .  .  .  All  right." 

293 


MARY  REGAN 

"Who  is  the  party?"  demanded  Mr.  Morton  when 
Clifford  had  hung  up. 

"I  think  it  best  for  you  not  to  know  until  the 
party  comes,"  replied  Clifford.  "The  party  should 
be  here  in  half  an  hour." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
HOW  MARY'S  DREAM  CAME  TRUE 

A  TINY  dressing-room  opened  off  this  very  private 
supper-room,  and  into  this  they  moved  Jack  and 
drew  the  curtains.  Then  the  two  men  sat  down  and 
in  a  silence  which  had  as  its  background  the  laughter 
and  the  wild,  harsh  dance  music  without,  they 
smoked  for  half  an  hour  —  Clifford  wondering  how 
this  pale,  grim  man  was  going  to  bear  himself,  and 
how,  and  as  what,  Mary  would  emerge  from  the 
double  situation  toward  which  she  was  hurrying. 

Presently  there  was  a  knock.  "That 's  our  party," 
said  Clifford,  and  crossed  and  opened  the  door. 

But  instead  of  Mary,  there  entered  Bradley  and 
behind  him  little  Peter  Loveman.  Both  halted  in 
seeming  surprise.  Instinctively  Clifford  knew  that 
Hilton  had  sent  quick  warning  to  the  pair. 

"Been  on  the  track  of  your  son,  Mr.  Morton," 
explained  Bradley;  "and  we  just  trailed  him  here. 
Was  going  to  shoot  you  word  we'd  located  him." 

"You're  right  on  the  job,"  Morton  said  curtly. 
"But  since  I  have  him  in  hand,  I  guess  I  won't  need 
you  gentlemen.  Good-night." 

Loveman  stepped  quickly  forward;  Clifford  could 
guess  the  nervous  fear  that  prompted  the  keen 
witted  little  man  to  want  to  be  at  hand  in  what  he 

295 


MARY  REGAN 

sensed  as  a  moment  of  peril  to  himself  and  the  deli 
cately  balanced  edifice  of  his  schemes. 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Morton,"  he  said  firmly,  in  a 
voice  of  sympathetic  concern,  "but  I'm  sure  we 
might  be  of  some  service,  and  should  remain." 

"I'm  giving  orders  here,"  snapped  Mr.  Morton. 
"Good-night!" 

They  stood  a  moment,  Morton's  cold  gray  eyes 
commandingly  fixed  on  them;  then  they  backed 
toward  the  door.  Clifford  thought  rapidly:  These 
two,  leaving  here,  might  stumble  across  Mary  Regan, 
so  long  searched  for  by  them,  and  prepared  as  he 
knew  they  always  were  to  act  on  the  instant  of  dis 
covery,  they  might  somehow  manage  to  put  their 
daring  plan,  whatever  it  might  be,  into  instant  exe 
cution.  That  risk  must  be  avoided. 

"Wait!"  Clifford  called  sharply  to  them.  "Mr. 
Morton,  I  prefer  to  have  them  remain." 

Mr.  Morton  stared.    "Just  as  you  like." 

"Loveman,  Bradley,  your  request  is  granted," 
said  Clifford. 

And  then  a  further  possibility  flashed  upon 
Clifford.  Since  Hilton  had  communicated  with 
Loveman  and  Bradley,  what  more  likely  than  that 
they  should  still  be  able  to  communicate?  —  which 
would  mean  that  Hilton  was  close  at  hand  on  the 
lookout.  And  if  that  were  true,  what  more  likely 
than  that  when  Mary  drove  up  — 

Before  this  thought  had  completed  itself  Clifford 
had  started  out.  But  even  as  he  laid  hand  upon  the 

296 


MARY  REGAN 

knob  there  was  a  knock.  He  swung  open  the  door, 
and  Mary,  a  light  summer  cloak  thrown  looseh 
about  her  shoulders,  stepped  into  the  room. 

" I'm  here  —  what  is  it? "  she  said  as  she  entered. 

"Miss  Gilmore!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Morton,  using 
the  name  by  which  he  had  best  known  her. 

She  glanced  swiftly  and  keenly  from  one  to  the 
other  of  the  three  unexpected  men.  Then  she 
wheeled  upon  Clifford. 

"What's  this  you've  led  me  into?"  she  demanded 
—  "a  plant?" 

"Bradley  and  Loveman  are  uninvited,  and  were 
not  here  when  I  telephoned,"  he  explained.  Then 
he  went  on  in  a  quiet,  dominating,  driving  voice. 
"I  did  n't  tell  you  whom  you  were  really  to  meet, 
and  I  did  n't  tell  Mr.  Morton  who  was  coming,  for 
the  reason  that  I  felt  you  might  each  refuse  to  see 
the  other.  Pardon  my  subterfuge.  But  I  sent  for 
you,  Miss  Gilmore,  because  Mr.  Morton  wished  to 
talk  to  you  about  Jack." 

Mr.  Morton  flushed  wrathfully.  "I  talk  to  her 
about  Jack!  After  the  letter  I've  had  from  her!" 

"  You'll  forget  that  letter!"  Clifford  said  sharply. 
"You  put  this  affair  in  my  hands  —  and  your  chief 
concern  is  Jack." 

He  turned  to  Mary,  and  looked  at  her  squarely, 
meaningly. 

"  You  've  had  your  dreams  —  big  dreams.  I  don't 
need  to  remind  you  what  they  are.  And  you've 
worked  to  have  those  dreams  come  true." 

297 


MARY  REGAN 

He  turned  back  on  Morton,  and  spoke  in  the  same 
dominating  voice.  "And  you,  Mr.  Morton  —  I  told 
you  a  little  while  ago  that  there  was  just  one  thing 
that  might  save  Jack.  Miss  Gilmore  here  is  the  only 
person  who  has  in  recent  years  had  any  influence  on 
Jack.  For  a  time  she  had  him  working  and  behav 
ing.  You  recall  her  offer  that  night  to  take  Jack 
back  to  that  Riverside  Drive  apartment  and  make 
a  man  of  him.  You  turned  her  offer  down  —  you 
said  you  could  manage  your  son  —  and  you  Ve  seen 
the  result."  He  spoke  more  dominantly,  more  driv- 
ingly.  "That  was  your  big  chance.  No  matter  what 
you  may  think  of  Miss  Gilmore,  she  is  still  your 
big  chance,  and  your  only  chance." 

Clifford  paused  and  waited.  Mary,  very  pale, 
gazed  at  him,  her  lips  apart.  Morton,  his  proud, 
masterful  face  also  pale,  stared  fixedly  at  Mary,  but 
said  nothing. 

"Well,"  Clifford  prompted  him  sharply,  "here's 
your  last  chance.  Speak  up." 

"First  of  all,"  said  Mr.  Morton,  his  voice  steady 
with  an  obviously  great  effort  and  his  gray  eyes  now 
piercing,  "I'd  like  to  ask  Miss  Gilmore  a  few  ques 
tions.  Miss  Gilmore,  how  did  you  and  Jack  — " 

"One  moment!"  cut  in  Peter  Loveman,  stepping 
quickly  between  Mary  and  Mr.  Morton,  and  seizing 
the  latter's  arm.  Clifford  had  seen  a  quick  fear  leap 
into  the  little  man's  face,  and  he  knew  the  little 
lawyer's  impulse  was  to  be  first  at  the  explaining 
and  save  himself  if  possible.  "I  can  answer  what  I 

298 


know  to  be  your  questions,"  Loveman  said  rapidly. 
"That's  one  reason  I  wanted  to  hunt  you  up  to 
night  with  Mr.  Bradley,  because  I've  just  learned 
some  things." 

"Loveman!"  snapped  Clifford,  swiftly  drawing 
his  automatic  and  aiming  it  over  Mary's  shoulder. 
The  little  lawyer  turned,  and  all  the  color  left  the 
face,  ruddied  by  high  living.  "Loveman,  Miss 
Gilmore  and  Mr.  Morton  have  the  floor!" 

Loveman,  dropping  Morton's  arm,  stepped  from 
between  the  two.  Mary  had  not  seen  what  argument 
had  brought  about  the  lawyer's  subsidence;  her 
eyes,  which  had  shifted  to  Mr.  Morton,  had  re 
mained  steadily  upon  him,  waiting. 

"Mr.  Morton,  you  have  the  floor,"  Clifford 
prompted  him. 

Mr.  Morton  seemed  to  swallow  something  — 
something  so  large  that  it  would  hardly  go  down. 
Then  he  spoke. 

"Miss  Gilmore,  I've  done  all  I  can  to  save  Jack 
—  but  I  Ve  failed.  The  Broadway  life  seems  to  have 
got  him  at  last.  Here  is  what  he  seems  to  have 
come  to."  He  drew  apart  the  curtains  of  the  little 
dressing-room,  revealing  the  huddled  form  of  Jack, 
and  then  let  the  curtains  swing  together.  "As  Mr. 
Clifford  has  said,  I  see  that  there  is  only  one  chance 
left,  and  that  you  are  the  only  chance.  Will  you  be 
willing  to  undertake  what  you  offered  to  do  that 
night  down  in  front  of  this  cafe?" 

The  moment  of  Mary's  great  test  —  her  great 
299 


MARY  REGAN 

opportunity,  if  she  saw  it  as  such  —  had  arrived. 
Clifford  watched  her  —  waiting  —  his  whole  being 
taut.  Her  face  had  become  a  mask;  she  looked  with 
cold,  direct  eyes  upon  the  man  on  the  adroit  win 
ning  of  whose  favor  she  had  for  months  striven  to 
build  her  great  worldly  dreams. 

"I  suppose  you  mean  undertake  it  on  the  condi 
tions  that  were  then  mentioned,"  she  said  quietly 
—  "that  it  is  to  be  what  you  once  termed  the 
'usual  Riverside  Drive  affair'?  That  we  are  to  be 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson?" 

"Of  course,  I'll  make  it  worth  your  while." 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  said  quietly. 

"But  I  will  give  you  any  present  allowance  you 
may  desire,"  he  urged,  "and  will  make  any  perma 
nent  settlement  upon  you  that  is  in  reason." 

"I  do  not  care  to  run  — " 

"But,  Mary  —  Miss  Gilmore,"  gently  interrupted 
Loveman.  This  affair  was  taking  an  amazingly 
different  turn  from  what  he  had  expected.  After  all, 
bewildering  as  it  was,  matters  were  falling  out  in 
a  way  to  make  his  original  plan  seem  once  more 
possible.  "  Mr.  Morton's  offer  is  fair.  Take  it." 

Mary  did  not  heed  him,  but  spoke  directly  at 
Mr.  Morton.  "I  do  not  care  to  undertake  to  con 
duct  a  sanitarium  for  one  person  for  pay  —  and 
then  have  the  patient  removed  as  soon  as  a  cure  is 
effected." 

"But  if  you  were  willing  to  do  it  before,  why  not 
now?  I  don't  understand!" 

300 


MARY  REGAN 

"It  is  no  concern  of  mine  if  you  do  not  under 
stand." 

She  spoke  calmly,  coldly.  Clifford's  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  her,  trying  to  pierce  her  brain  and  heart. 
Morton  stared  at  her  discomfited,  desperation  grow 
ing  in  his  face.  There  was  another  moment  of  silence, 
against  the  background  of  the  dance  music  which 
twanged  stridently  without. 

Mary  spoke  again.  "If  that  completes  what  you 
wish  to  say  to  me,  Mr.  Morton,  then  good-night." 

She  turned  to  leave.  Her  hand  was  on  the  knob, 
when  Morton  spoke  up,  his  voice  now  husky. 

"Another  minute,  Miss  Gilmore!"  She  turned 
about.  "Miss  Gilmore,  you  are  my  last  chance  — 
and  Jack's  last  chance."  He  spoke  more  rapidly. 
"I've  simply  got  to  have  you  —  you  understand. 
You  must  have  had  some  real  kind  of  attachment 
for  Jack  or  you  'd  never  have  offered  what  you  did. 
And  certainly  Jack  likes  you  or  you  'd  never  have 
had  the  influence  over  him  that  you  Ve  proved  you 
possess.  Listen  —  let 's  consider  it  all  from  another 
angle.  Miss  Gilmore,  when  you  were  at  the  Gran- 
tham  as  '  Mrs.  Gardner '  you  told  me  you  had  a 
husband  —  but  excuse  me,  I  do  not  believe  it.  Miss 
Gilmore"  —  he  halted,  there  was  a  super-gulp,  then 
he  went  on —  "  Miss  Gilmore,  if  you  are  free,  I  want 
you  to  marry  Jack." 

Clifford,  Loveman,  and  Bradley,  equally  as 
tounded,  gazed  at  Mary.  She  seemed  to  be  able  only 
to  stare  at  Mr.  Morton. 

301 


MARY  REGAN 

"Whatever  I  may  have  said  or  thought  against 
you,  I  '11  say  this  in  your  favor,"  Mr.  Morton  con 
tinued,  rapidly  as  before  —  "that  you  were  so  dis 
creet  in  your  affair  with  Jack,  you  kept  it  all  so 
secret,  that  I  'm  sure  there  will  be  no  scandal.  We'll 
not  have  that  to  face.  So  I  ask  you,  as  a  favor,  to 
marry  him." 

Clifford,  still  dazed  by  the  swift  manner  in  which 
his  plan  had  leaped  beyond  itself,  breathlessly  held 
his  gaze  on  Mary.  Her  dark  eyes  were  wild,  her  lips 
loosely  parted  —  the  figure  of  one  bewildered  be 
yond  realization  of  what  had  happened.  Then  she 
caught  a  sharp  breath  and  high  excitement  came 
into  her  face.  At  that  same  instant  Clifford  saw  the 
magnitude  of  what  had  suddenly  been  opened  to 
her  —  and  he  saw  that  she  was  seeing  it,  too.  At 
last,  by  a  strange  twist  of  circumstances  and  of 
Clifford's  attempt  to  guide  events,  she  had  won! 
Won  all  that  was  included  in  her  original  plan !  And 
most  amazing  of  all,  what  she  had  thought  to  get 
as  the  reward  of  scheming,  she  was  now  being  begged 
to  accept  as  a  favor  —  wealth,  worldly  position, 
and  all  that  each  could  bring! 

And  Clifford,  in  this  high  moment,  realized  an 
other  thing.  All  these  months  of  her  big  dreams,  of 
her  indomitable  and  skillful  scheming,  she  had  had 
one  great,  ever-present  fear  —  that  some  one  might 
expose  her  identity  and  her  past,  and  bring  to  in 
stant  nothingness  her  magnificent  dreams.  How  she 
had  fought  exposure  —  desperately  and  daringly, 

302 


MARY  REGAN 

with  her  all  of  cleverness !  And  now,  if  she  were  only 
moderately  careful,  she  need  no  longer  fear  expo 
sure  —  and  when  exposure  came,  if  it  did,  she 
would  have  so  established  herself  that  it  could  no 
longer  injure  her. 

Events,  Clifford's  efforts,  the  working-out  of  con 
flicting  human  impulses,  the  operations  of  that  er 
ratic  thing  which  we  call  chance  or  fate  or  destiny 

—  all  these  could  not  have  combined  more  perfectly 
to  be  her  friend  —  could  not  have  combined  better 
to  bring  her  the  worldly  substance  of  her  daring 
dreams. 

"You  '11  do  it,  won't  you? "  prompted  Mr.  Morton. 

Mary  did  not  speak  at  once.  She  was  even  more 
pale  than  before;  she  was  breathing  rapidly,  almost 
panting,  and  her  eyes  were  even  more  staringly  wide. 
Clifford,  his  heart  pounding,  wondered  at  her  pro 
longed  silence  —  wondered  feverishly  just  what  was 
passing  in  that  bold,  daring,  worldly  mind,  which 
he  had  found  to  be  so  many  different  minds. 

She  turned  and  gave  Clifford  a  long,  direct  look 

—  a  bewildered,  almost  startled  look.     Then  she 
sharply  caught  her  breath,  and  slowly  wheeling  she 
moved  a  step  nearer  Mr.  Morton. 

"Mr.  Morton,"  she  began  in  a  low,  strained 
voice,  "I  want  to  tell  you  something —  I  want  to 
tell  you  everything  — " 

"Stop!"  came  a  frantic  cry  from  Loveman  — 
and  Clifford  again  saw  fear  in  Loveman's  large,  pro 
tuberant  eyes. 

303 


MARY  REGAN 

In  an  instant  what  had  been  a  bewildered  tableau 
became  a  whirl  of  activity.  Bradley's  right  hand 
darted  for  the  electric-light  switch,  and  before 
Clifford  could  move  there  was  a  click  and  the  room 
was  in  darkness.  A  shrill  two  notes,  which  Clifford 
knew  to  be  a  signal,  sounded  from  Bradley's  lips. 
Clifford  sprang  toward  where  he  had  last  seen 
Bradley,  and  collided  with  that  burly  figure  with 
so  great  an  impact  that  both  went  crashing  to  the 
floor,  Clifford  on  top. 

Clifford  had  not  drawn  his  automatic;  he  wanted 
no  shooting  affray  —  not  in  this  darkness  where 
bullets  would  be  impartial  and  irresponsible.  But 
instinct  told  him  Bradley's  probable  first  tactic; 
and  he  reached  for  Bradley's  right  hand,  and  fortu 
nately  caught  the  wrist.  Sure  enough,  the  right 
hand  was  jerking  out  a  heavy  pistol.  With  both 
hands  Clifford  seized  the  weapon,  and  tried  to  twist 
it  from  the  other's  hand;  and  grunting,  twisting, 
the  two  old  enemies  fought  in  the  darkness. 

Clifford  heard  the  door  open  and  sharply  close, 
heard  Mary  cry  out  —  and  then  heard  another 
struggle,  with  Mary  gasping.  He  gave  a  desperate 
wrench,  and  the  pistol  was  his:  he  did  not  then  know 
that  his  comparatively  easy  victory  over  the  power 
ful  Bradley  was  over  a  half-dazed  man  —  that  his 
catapultic  leap  had  driven  the  falling  Bradley's 
head  against  the  corner  of  the  table.  Raising  the 
pistol,  held  club-wise,  Clifford  twice  struck  at  where 
Bradley's  head  should  be.  At  the  second  blow 

304 


MARY  REGAN 

Bradley 's  grappling  arms  relaxed,  and  he  was  sud 
denly  limp. 

Clifford  sprang  to  his  feet,  fumbled  for  the 
switch,  found  it,  and  turned  it  on.  Out  of  the  black 
ness  there  leaped  before  Clifford's  eyes  the  other 
struggle,  Mary  Regan  its  center,  her  cloak  torn  loose 
and  slipping  from  one  shoulder.  Loveman  was  grip 
ping  her  left  arm,  and  Hilton  had  her  struggling 
right  arm  in  a  twisting  clutch,  A  tiny  bright  some 
thing  flashed  in  Hilton's  right  hand  and  made  a  stab 
at  the  white  arm  he  held. 

But  even  as  this  picture  was  revealed,  Clifford 
sprang  toward  Hilton;  while  Mr.  Morton  blinking 
from  the  darkness,  started,  bewildered,  toward  the 
two.  "Look  out!"  warningly  cried  Loveman  —  but 
too  late,  for  as  the  bright  fang  touched  Mary's  arm, 
Clifford's  fist  caught  Hilton  under  the  jaw.  Hilton, 
fairly  lifted  from  his  feet,  went  spinning  and  fell  in 
a  loose  heap.  Clifford  whirled  upon  Loveman,  but 
Loveman  was  backing  away,  a  pasty  smile  on  his 
full  face,  and  his  hands  held  up. 

"I'm  not  doing  a  thing,  Bob,"  gasped  the  little 
man  —  "honest,  not  a  thing!" 

"Better  keep  on  doing  it!"  said  Clifford,  and  blew 
his  whistle. 

"What's  —  what's  happened?"  panted  Mary. 

"Nothing  —  except  some  parties  have  just  tried 
to  kidnap  you,  first  trying  to  shoot  a  hypo  into 
you." 

"Kidnap  me!  What  for?" 
305 


MARY  REGAN 

"To  shut  you  up  —  get  you  out  of  the  way  — 
later,  to  frame  you  to  suit  their  own  purpose.  But 
you're  bleeding!"  Clifford  whipped  out  a  handker 
chief  and  bound  the  arm.  Then  he  picked  up  from 
the  floor  the  syringe  that  had  fallen  from  Hilton's 
hand  and  examined  it.  "It's  still  loaded,  so  you 
got  nothing  more  than  a  scratch  of  the  needle." 

At  this  moment  Jimmie  Kelly  entered,  answering 
Clifford's  whistle.  With  Jimmie's  help  Clifford  put 
handcuffs  first  upon  Loveman  and  then  upon  Hilton 
and  Bradley,  who  had  both  begun  to  revive. 

"For  the  present,  we'll  line  'em  up  against  the 
wall,"  said  Clifford  —  which  they  did.  "Later  we 
can  decide  what  to  do  with  them." 

"But  what's  all  this  about?"  demanded  Mr. 
Morton. 

"Explanations  can  wait  until  later,"  returned 
Clifford.  "The  first  thing  is  your  business  with 
Miss  Gilmore.  Miss  Gilmore,  I  believe  you  started 
to  tell  us  something." 

Once  more  Clifford  looked  at  Mary  keenly  — 
back  again  in  that  mood  of  palpitant  suspense  as  to 
what  lay  in  her  heart  —  as  to  what  she  was  about  to 
say  and  do  —  she  who  this  moment  held  her  dream 
world  in  her  hands!  Morton,  silent,  awaited  her 
speech.  From  the  wall  Loveman,  Bradley,  and 
Hilton  looked  on  in  varying  degrees  of  fear,  chagrin, 
and  glowering  wrath. 

When  at  length  Mary  spoke,  she  spoke  quietly. 
"The  first  thing  I  wish  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Morton,  is 

306 


MARY  REGAN 

comparatively  of  no  importance.  I  wrote  you  that 
letter,  yes.  That  was  weeks  ago.  I  wrote  it  the  very 
night  you  refused  to  entrust  Jack  to  me.  I  was 
angry.  I  was  determined  you  should  suffer,  too.  I 
was  going  to  lead  you  on  —  get  you  caught  in  a 
predicament  that  would  make  you  writhe  —  and 
then  would  come  public  humiliation." 

"What  kind  of  a  predicament?"  asked  Mr. 
Morton. 

"It  does  n't  matter  now.  But  I  had  my  plan  — 
and  I  think  I  could  have  made  it  work.  You  got 
only  that  one  letter,  Mr.  Morton.  That  was  because, 
when  I  calmed  down,  I  changed  my  mind.  I  did  not 
want  to  do  what  I  had  planned  to  do." 

Somehow  —  though  Mary  Regan  could  mean 
nothing  in  his  life  —  this  statement  brought  great 
relief  to  Clifford. 

She  went  on  in  the  same  quiet  voice.  "The  rest 
of  what  I  have  to  tell  you  is  of  more  importance. 
My  name  is  not  Miss  Gilmore  nor  Mrs.  Gardner,  and 
never  was.  My  name  is  Mary  Regan.  My  father 
was  'Gentleman  Jim'  Regan,  a  confidence-man; 
I've  helped  my  Uncle  Joe  Russell,  another  con 
fidence-man.  I  've  been  something  of  a  confidence- 
woman,  a  crook,  in  the  past.  Now  I  'm  what  you  'd 
probably  call  an  adventuress." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Morton. 

Clifford  blinked  at  her,  hardly  believing  what  he 
was  hearing.  She  had  feared  exposure  —  she  had 
fought  to  ward  it  off  —  and  now  that  she  had  won 

307 


MARY  REGAN 

all  that  she  had  ever  dreamed  of  winning,  here  she 
was  quietly  exposing  herself! 

"  I  met  your  son,"  she  went  on.  "I  saw  the  chance 
to  get  something  I  wanted  through  marrying  him. 
So  I  married  him." 

"What  —  you  are  already  married  to  Jack!" 
ejaculated  Mr.  Morton.  "Why  —  why  — " 

"It  does  n't  sound  believable,  I  know.  You  once 
called  the  engagement  and  wedding  rings  fakes, 
which  I  wore  as  Mrs.  Grayson.  I  have  them  with 
me."  From  a  bag  which  hung  from  her  wrist  she 
took  two  rings  and  handed  them  to  him.  "You 
may  look  at  them.  They  are  both  engraved." 

He  glanced  at  the  engraving  within  the  golden 
circles. 

"Married!"  he  repeated. 

"I  have  been  your  daughter-in-law  all  the  time 
you  believed  me  Jack's  mistress.  I  made  him  keep 
the  marriage  secret.  Jack  knows  nothing  about  who 
I  really  am.  If  the  marriage  became  public  there 
was  the  danger  of  you  and  Jack  learning  I  was 
Mary  Regan;  I  did  n't  want  this  to  become  known 
until  I  had  made  myself  indispensable,  and  then 
you'd  have  to  accept  me.  That's  why  I  tried  to 
make  Jack  settle  down  and  go  to  work.  It  was  all 
part  of  my  game." 

"So  —  you  're  a  crook! "  breathed  Morton,  dumb 
founded. 

She  went  on  in  her  even,  controlled  voice.  "Also 
it  was  part  of  my  game  to  break  off  the  affair  be- 

308 


MARY  REGAN 

tween  Jack  and  Maisie  Jones  —  you  remember  that 
time  at  the  Grantham." 

"What  —  you  were  behind  Maisie  Jones's  action ! " 

"I  told  her  that  I  was  married  to  Jack,  and  that 
we  had  to  keep  the  marriage  secret.  And  so  she 
wrote  you,  breaking  the  engagement.  She  did  that 
to  help  Jack  —  and  help  me;  she  did  n't  know  me, 
did  n't  understand  me,  therefore  she  overestimated 
me  and  believed  I  could  make  a  strong  man  out  of 
Jack  and  could  make  him  happy.  For  that  part  of 
what  I  did,  even  though  it  was  trickery,  I  am  glad. 
Maisie  Jones  is  too  good  for  Jack;  he  would  have 
broken  her  heart.  I  saved  her  from  life-long  misery." 

Mr.  Morton  stared.  And  then:  "But  why  have 
you  told  me  all  these  things  now?  —  when  you  had 
succeeded  in  your  plan?" 

"Because  I  see  things  differently  now,"  replied 
the  same  quiet  voice.  "Jack — he  was  attractive, 
and  I  liked  him  —  but  I  never  really  loved  him.  I  am 
sick  of  the  things  I  tried  to  do,  sick  of  the  things 
I  dreamed  of.  You  may  have  Jack's  freedom  any 
way  you  like.  I'm  through  with  it  all."  She  re 
peated  the  last  sentence,  still  quietly,  but  vibrantly. 
"I'm  through  with  it  all!" 

In  Clifford  there  was  wild  exultation  —  a  thrilling 
sense  of  triumph,  too  new  as  yet  for  him  to  think 
of  its  possible  relation  to  himself.  He  had  tried 
to  influence  her  by  influencing  the  events  which 
touched  her  life  —  but  never  had  he  foreseen  just 
such  a  denouement  of  events,  just  such  a  denouement 


MARY  REGAN 

of  character.  He  had  been  right  all  the  while,  as  to 
the  fundamental  worth  of  her  nature ! 

Morton  stared  at  the  pale,  composed  face  of  his 
daughter-in-law,  which  gazed  with  such  steadiness 
into  his  own.  He  was  utterly  without  words  for  a 
few  seconds.  Then  he  burst  out :  — 

"Even  if  all  of  what  you  have  said  is  true,"  he 
cried  desperately,  "you  are  nevertheless  the  one 
person  who  can  save  Jack.  We'll  overlook  what 
you  Ve  been  and  what  you  've  done.  You  're  Jack's 
wife.  Well,  you've  got  to  stand  by  him!" 

"I'm  through  with  it  all,"  she  said  once  more. 

Morton's  desperate,  suppliant  manner  changed. 
Once  again  he  was  the  keen,  powerful  personality 
that  made  him  master  of  men  and  things. 

"You  can't  slide  out  of  it  like  that,  Mary  Morton, 
—  to  give  you  your  right  name  for  once,"  he  drove 
at  her  grimly.  "Something  seems  to  have  awakened 
you  —  awakened  you  to  what  you  regard  as  a  real 
sense  of  honor.  Well,  here  is  something  for  this  new 
sense  of  honor  to  consider:  Whatever  your  motive 
was  in  marrying  Jack,  in  marrying  him  you  have 
incurred  a  definite  obligation.  It 's  your  duty,  unless 
you  want  to  be  a  quitter,  and  more  of  a  crook  than 
you  were  before,  to  fulfill  that  obligation!" 

She  looked  at  him  fixedly  —  for  a  long  time.  Then 
she  slowly  looked  around  at  Clifford  —  then  she 
looked  back  again,  and  her  figure  tensed.  For  a  long 
time  no  one  spoke. 

"It's  an  obligation  you  have  incurred!"  Mr. 
310 


MARY  REGAN 

Morton  drove  at  her.  "It's  your  duty  to  fulfill 
it!" 

"My  duty!"  Her  eyes  grew  wide,  and  she  shiv 
ered.  Her  wide  eyes  remained  fastened  in  their 
sickly  stare  upon  Mr.  Morton's  grim  mandatory 
face;  she  was  thinking,  weighing  the  wide  alterna 
tives  of  life;  influenced  perhaps  by  the  new  point 
Mr.  Morton  had  made,  but  not  influenced  by  his 
attempted  dominance. 

"My  duty!"  she  breathed  again.  Then  the  life 
seemed  to  flow  out  of  her.  Her  straight,  slender 
body  drooped  and  swayed,  but  a  hand  clutching 
the  back  of  a  gilt  chair  held  her  up.  "Very  well," 
she  said  in  a  thin  dry  whisper.  And  then:  "Very 
well  —  if  you'll  let  me  tell  Jack  all  I've  told  you, 
and  if  Jack  then  still  wants  me." 

"You  mustn't  tell  him!"  cried  Mr.  Morton 
sharply.  "Even  your  hold  on  him  is  precarious. 
Telling  him  might  ruin  everything.  Why,  I  guess 
you'd  better  not  even  let  him  know  that  I  know. 
Take  him  back  to  the  Mordona  —  be  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Grayson  for  the  present  —  pretend  to  be  working 
toward  a  reconciliation  with  me.  Keep  everything 
a  secret  until  Jack  is  established." 

She  smiled.  The  irony  of  it!  How  circumstances 
had  reversed  their  positions:  here  was  Mr.  Morton 
urging  almost  the  same  arguments  for  secrecy  that 
she  had  formerly  used  upon  herself! 

It  had  been  a  very  little  smile.  She  was  instantly 
sober. 


MARY  REGAN 

"Very  well  —  I  '11  keep  it  secret  and  I  '11  do  what 
I  can,"  she  said. 

Clifford  gazed  at  her  heavily,  a  great,  numb  pain 
where  his  heart  was.  Then  he  slowly  turned  to 
Lieutenant  Kelly. 

"Let  'em  all  go,  Jimmie,"  he  said  briefly.  "A 
pinch  means  publicity,  and  publicity  is  just  what 
this  situation  does  n't  require." 

Jimmie  removed  the  handcuffs  and  the  three  went 
out,  Bradley  glowering  vengeance  as  he  passed. 
"There'll  be  a  next  time,  you  bet!"  he  growled. 
Clifford  made  no  reply. 

"Mr.  Morton,  you  go  next,"  Clifford  said 
brusquely.  "You  should  n't  be  found  here  by  Jack 
when  he  comes  to  —  which  may  be  any  minute. 
Mrs.  Morton  can  take  care  of  Jack.  I  '11  follow  you 
as  soon  as  I  Ve  had  a  word  with  her." 

A  moment  later  Clifford  was  alone  with  Mary. 
He  tried  to  keep  his  voice  steady,  but  it  did  not 
altogether  obey  him. 

"  I  merely  wanted  to  say  that  Bradley,  Loveman, 
and  the  others  may  not  be  satisfied.  You  exposed 
yourself  completely,  but  you  exposed  no  one  else. 
You  let  them  off  easy,  but  they  may  be  afraid  of 
you.  What  they  tried  to-night  they  may  try  again. 
I  wanted  to  ask  you  to  be  careful." 

"I  will  be,"  she  said. 

"And  I  wanted  to  say  that  I  hope  everything  is 
going  to  work  out  for  the  best  for  you.  For  you 
know"  —  he  ended  lamely,  not  very  sure  of  what 

312 


MARY  REGAN 

he  was  saying  —  "I  really  have  wanted  to  be  your 
friend." 

"I  know  you  really  have  been  my  friend,"  she 
answered  —  "my  best  friend.  And  I  thank  you." 

"Good-night,"  he  said. 

"Good-night,"  she  answered,  in  her  face  a  drawn, 
gray  look. 

For  a  moment  he  seemed  unable  to  stir;  then, 
"Good-night,"  he  repeated,  and  left  her,  gray- 
faced,  and  standing  rigidly  upright  in  the  midst  of 
the  debris  of  the  evening's  carousal  —  to  wait  the 
awakening  of  Jack. 

Out  on  the  sidewalk  Clifford  turned  into  a  shad 
owy  doorway;  he  was  going  to  keep  watch,  and  from 
a  distance  see  Mary  safely  to  the  Mordona.  Pres 
ently  he  was  aware  that  Loveman  was  at  his  side, 
smiling  his  amiable  smile. 

"Clever  work,  Bob,"  Loveman  said  pleasantly. 
"Now  that  it's  all  finished  up,  I  suppose  you  are 
satisfied  with  the  game  you've  played." 

"I'll  not  be  satisfied  till  I  really  land  you,  Love 
man." 

"No?"  said  Loveman,  very  softly.  "Perhaps  — 
who  knows?  —  the  game  may  really  not  all  be  fin 
ished  up  —  for  human  nature,  you  know,  is  human 
nature  —  and  perhaps  there  are  several  other  cards 
to  be  played  —  several  extremely  good  cards." 

With  that  the  little  lawyer  moved  away.  Pa 
tiently,  with  heaviness  upon  his  heart,  Clifford  stood 
motionless  on  guard  in  the  doorway  waiting  for 

313 


MARY  REGAN 

Mary  to  appear  with  her  charge  .  .  .  wondering  now 
over  Loveman's  soft  remark  about  cards  yet  to  be 
played  .  .  .  now  wondering  about  that  gray,  drawn 
look  with  which  Mary  had  followed  him  out.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

JACK  MAKES  A   RESOLUTION 

FOR  an  hour  —  two  hours  —  Clifford  continued  to 
stand  in  the  shadowy  doorway  near  the  entrance 
of  the  Midnight  Cafe.  Presently  Mary  came  do\vn> 
Jack  with  her.  The  light  drug  which  Clifford  had 
slipped  into  his  drink  to  render  him  more  manage 
able  and  prevent  his  going  with  his  carousing 
companions,  had  spent  its  power.  Jack  was  now 
sober,  though  plainly  his  nerves  were  still  badly 
shaken. 

Clifford  stepped  out  of  his  doorway.  He  wanted 
Mary  to  see  him,  that  she  might  have  the  reassur 
ance  which  would  come  of  her  knowing  that  he  was 
keeping  his  promise  to  watch  over  her  and  Jack  — 
to  ward  off  any  possible  attempt  of  Loveman  and 
Bradley  —  until  she  got  Jack  safely  in  the  apart 
ment  at  the  Mordona,  which,  months  since,  they 
had  occupied  as  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson"  and 
which  they  were  again  to  occupy  under  that  name. 
Mary  saw  him;  but  Jack  also  saw  him,  which  last 
Clifford  had  not  wished  for. 

"Hello,  there,  Bob,  —  come  here,"  Jack  called. 
Clifford  crossed  to  him,  and  the  young  man  gripped 
his  hand  in  a  hand  that  twitched.  "Bob,  old  man,'" 
he  went  on,  his  unsteady  voice  full  of  feeling,  "I 

315 


MARY  REGAN 

want  to  thank  you.  You  did  me  a  great  turn  —  and, 
old  man,  I  'm  never  going  to  forget  it.  Mary  told 
me  how  you  got  rid  of  dad,  and  then  sent  for  her 
to  take  me  in  charge.  It  was  great." 

Clifford  did  not  look  at  Mary,  but  he  was  con 
scious  of  her  pale,  set  face.  He  fell  in  with  the 
apocryphal  version  Mary  apparently  had  given  Jack 
of  what  had  happened  while  he  had  lain  in  a  stupor. 

"That's  all  right,  Jack,"  Clifford  replied. 

"And  say,  Bob,  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  know 
I  've  been  a  fool  —  and  things  a  lot  worse  than  that. 
But,  Bob,  —  that's  all  past  now  —  and  past  for 
ever!  I  don't  deserve  what  Mary  is  doing  for  me. 
But  I  'm  going  to  make  good.  I  'm  going  to  be  a 
good  boy  —  for  Mary's  sake!  Just  you  watch  me!" 

There  was  a  frank  manliness  in  the  young  fellow's 
voice  and  manner.  He  was  deeply  moved,  and  was 
as  much  in  earnest  as  it  lay  within  his  powers  to  be. 

"Here's  something  I  wish  you'd  back  me  up  in, 
Bob,"  Jack  went  on.  "I  want  to  tell  dad  that 
Mary  and  I  are  married;  but  she  objects.  Don't 
you  think  I  should?" 

Clifford,  remembering  that  scene  two  hours  back 
where  Mary  had  told  the  older  Morton  everything 
while  Jack  lay  unconscious,  shook  his  head.  "I 
think  she's  right,  Jack." 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  tell  soon,  no  matter  what 
the  two  of  you  say!"  He  gripped  Clifford's  hand 
anew.  "Thanks  once  more,  old  man.  And  remem 
ber,  I  'm  sure  going  to  make  good!" 

316 


MARY  REGAN 

They  stepped  into  a  taxi-cab.  All  this  while  Mary 
had  neither  spoken  nor  looked  at  Clifford,  and  she 
did  not  look  at  him  now.  But  Clifford  saw  that  her 
face  was  still  gray,  still  drawn. 

He  followed  at  a  distance  in  another  taxi-cab,  on 
the  watch  for  interruption  from  Loveman  or  Brad 
ley,  or  their  agents.  But  there  was  none;  and 
Jack  and  Mary  passed  out  of  sight  into  the  Mor- 
dona. 

For  a  space  Clifford  gazexi  after  them,  thinking. 
Again  he  had  a  profound  sense  that  Jack  was  funda 
mentally  a  fine  fellow;  that  what  was  chiefly  wrong 
with  him  was  that  he  had  been  swept  into  the  resist 
less  current  of  Big  Pleasure  —  and  that  also  he  had 
been  victimized  by  those  who  make  a  subtle  busi 
ness  of  playing  upon  the  human  weaknesses  of 
those  whom  Big  Pleasure  sucks  in  —  and  that  also, 
before  and  behind  it  all,  he  had  never  been  prop 
erly  guided  by  his  worldly,  masterful  father.  Clif 
ford  wondered  whether  this  frank  admission  of 
faults,  this  declaration  to  make  good,  was  merely 
a  flare,  merely  the  final  spurt,  of  excellent  qualities 
that  were  almost  spent  —  or  whether  this  was  in 
truth  the  beginning  of  a  splendid  Jack  Morton  that 
was  yet  to  be. 

The  latter  seemed  to  be  the  case.  Two  days  later 
Clifford  chanced  upon  Mr.  Morton  at  the  Biltmore. 
"Jack  came  back  to  work  this  morning,"  commenced 
the  financier,  "and  he's  behaving  as  though  nothing 
is  too  hard  for  him.  I  guess  I  owe  an  awful  lot  to 

317 


MARY  REGAN 

you  for  making  me  see  that  Mary  was  the  only  per 
son  who  could  straighten  him  out.  She 's  a  wonderful 
woman!  The  way  she's  behaved,  it's  something  I 
cannot  understand!" 

"Don't  try  to  understand  her,"  said  Clifford. 
"Just  try  to  be  thankful." 

.A  new  purpose  had  come  into  Clifford's  life  since 
that  night  at  Le  Minuit.  Rather  it  was  his  old  pur 
pose,  but  now  more  grimly  determined  on,  and  un 
mixed  and  undeterred  by  other  considerations.  He 
was  out  to  get  Loveman,  and  Bradley,  and  their 
fellows  —  and  he  was  also  out  to  protect  Mary. 
And  all  this  was  now  nothing  more  than  a  purely 
professional  job,  since  matters  were  as  they  were 
with  Jack  and  Mary. 

Clifford's  long-prevailing  reason  for  holding  back 
on  Loveman  and  the  others  —  that  Mary  might  be 
free  to  work  out  her  plan,  and  that  Life  might  have 
the  chance  to  test  her  —  no  longer  had  any  force 
with  him,  now  that  Mary  had  exposed  herself  and 
renounced  her  ambition,  now  that  she  had  nothing 
at  stake.  His  determination  to  get  Loveman  was 
intensified  by  his  certainty  that  Loveman  was  trying 
to  get  Mary:  Loveman's  soft-spoken,  cryptic  remark 
in  front  of  Le  Minuit,  about  the  game  perhaps  not 
being  finished,  and  there  perhaps  being  other  cards 
to  play,  made  him  sure  that  this  great  spinner  of 
webs  had  not  ceased  from  spinning.  Clifford,  put 
ting  himself  in  Loveman's  place,  realized  that  the 
little  lawyer  had  motives  for  the  most  desperate 


MARY  REGAN 

action.  Loveman  had  lost  Mary  out  of  his  schemes 
forever;  he  realized  that  she  would  no  longer  protect 
him  in  order  to  protect  herself;  he  hated  her  for 
having  blocked  him;  and  he  feared  her,  feared  her 
daily,  for  she  had  it  in  her  power  to  secure  his  dis 
barment,  to  send  him  to  prison. 

There  was  no  doubt  in  Clifford's  mind  that  Love 
man  was  planning  —  that  Loveman  would  act.  And 
he  believed  that  Loveman,  in  daily  fear,  would  act 
quickly.  But  what  would  Loveman  do? 

There  was  but  one  way  to  learn,  and  that  was  to 
keep  Loveman  under  constant  and  discreet  surveil 
lance;  and  this  now  became  the  all-consuming  rou 
tine  of  Clifford's  life,  in  which  he  was  aided  by 
Lieutenant  Jimmie  Kelly  and  special  men  supplied 
him  by  Commissioner  Thorne,  and  concerning  which 
he  took  counsel  with  Uncle  George.  But  days, 
weeks,  went  by;  nothing  happened.  As  far  as  the 
closest  scrutiny  could  reveal,  Loveman  was  going 
about  his  daily  round  of  legal  business  and  his 
nightly  round  of  pleasures,  and  in  no  way  was  he 
concerning  himself  about  Mary  Regan.  And  like 
wise  Bradley  seemed  to  be  confining  himself  to  his 
own  affairs. 

This  behavior  puzzled  Clifford.  Why  were  they 
holding  back?  But  behind  this  seeming  quiet, 
Clifford  knew  that  things  were  brewing  —  and  big 
things.  But  as  to  just  what  they  might  be,  he 
could  get  no  clue.  However,  he  kept  doggedly  at 
his  secret  watch.  There  would  come  a  time  when 

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MARY  REGAN 

they  would  doubtless  act,  and  he  must  be  ready 
and  on  the  spot  to  take  action  when  the  moment 
came. 

One  day  when  Clifford  was  talking  the  situation 
over  with  Commissioner  Thorne,  the  Commissioner 
remarked:  ''They're  undoubtedly  up  to  some 
thing —  and  you'll  get  them  in  the  end,  Clifford." 
And  then:  "I  hear  that  young  Jack  Morton  has 
braced  up?" 

"Yes." 

"And  I  understand  that  it's  the  influence  of  his 
wife  that's  keeping  him  in  the  strait  and  narrow." 

"Yes." 

There  was  no  further  reference  to  Mary  Regan. 
But  each  understood  what  was  in  the  other's  mind: 
Thorne  knew  of  Clifford's  regard  for  Mary  Regan, 
and  Clifford  knew  that  Thorne  knew  it. 

"Clifford,"  the  Commissioner  went  on  after  a 
moment,  "I've  twice  offered  you  the  position  of 
Chief  of  the  Detective  Bureau.  I  have  a  man  in  the 
place  now,  but  he  does  n't  like  it  and  I  'm  going  to 
shift  him  as  soon  as  I  can.  Clifford,  I  'm  offering 
that  job  to  you  again." 

"Thanks,  Chief.  I  appreciate  the  honor" — and 
he  did.  In  former  times  Clifford  had  looked  up  to 
that  position  as  the  glory-crowned  but  unattain 
able  peak  in  his  professional  career.  He  hesitated. 
"  It's  a  mighty  big  thing,  Chief,  —  but  do  you  mind 
if  I  don't  give  you  my  answer  until  this  job  I  'm  on 
is  closed  up?" 

320 


MARY  REGAN 

"All  right,  Clifford.  But  remember  —  I  'm  count 
ing  on  you." 

While  Clifford  kept  at  his  appointed  task  —  al 
ways  with  the  sense  that  something  big  was  gath 
ering,  and  always  wondering  why  Loveman  was 
holding  back  —  the  summer  grew  toward  its  prime. 
Jack  he  occasionally  saw;  the  young  fellow  seemed 
to  be  keeping  his  promise  made  that  night  out  in 
front  of  Le  Minuit.  And  occasionally  Clifford  saw 
the  elder  Morton,  who  was  remaining  in  town  de 
spite  the  heat,  to  watch  over  his  son  in  this  latest 
testing  of  Jack's  fiber.  But  all  this  while  Clifford 
did  not  again  see  Mary. 

And  then  in  the  early  days  of  August  there  hap 
pened  what  perhaps  had  been  inevitable  this  long 
while  —  something  which  was  perhaps,  despite  halts 
and  hopeful  upward  turns,  merely  a  following  of 
the  direction  in  which  this  affair  had  been  fore 
doomed  to  move  since  he  had  first  come  into  it. 
Clifford  first  learned  of  it  when  Mr.  Morton  sent  for 
him.  He  found  the  financier  with  his  grim  po\vcr 
of  control  trying  to  repress  his  agitation. 

"Day  before  yesterday  was  Jack's  twenty-fifth 
birthday,"  said  Mr.  Morton,  "and  Jack  came  into 
that  legacy  left  him  by  his  aunt  —  two  hundred 
thousand  cash,  you  remember.  That  same  day  it 
was  deposited  in  his  name.  And  that  same  afternoon 
he  began  drinking.  He  was  at  it  yesterday;  he  did 
not  appear  at  the  office  at  all.  And  last  night  he 
did  not  go  home ;  Mary  has  not  seen  him  since  yester- 

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MARY  REGAN 

day  morning.  God!"  —  with  a  burst  of  emotion  — 
"I  don't  like  to  be  asking  you  this  again  —  but 
do  what  you  can  to  find  the  boy!" 

"I'll  get  him  if  I  can,"  Clifford  said  quietly,  and 
went  away. 

Clifford  did  some  quick  thinking.  Jack  at  last 
might  just  naturally  have  reached  the  limit  of  the 
endurance  of  his  good  resolution  —  yes,  that  prob 
ably  was  the  case.  But  even  if  so,  the  weakness  of 
the  eaten-away  structure  of  Jack's  will  was  not 
alone  responsible  for  his  break-down  and  disap 
pearance.  All  Clifford's  instincts,  and  all  his  cold 
reasoning,  told  him  that  Loveman  was  concerned 
in  this  latest  relapse  of  Jack.  It  was,  as  he  well 
knew,  an  easy  matter  to  keep  a  man  —  either  with 
or  against  his  consent  —  hidden  in  the  vast  human 
wilderness  of  New  York. 

More  intently,  and  more  carefully,  than  before 
Clifford  now  followed  the  little  lawyer  —  about  his 
downtown  legal  work  by  day,  about  the  restau 
rants  and  roof-gardens  at  night.  Every  hour  of  the 
twenty- four  either  Clifford,  or  the  men  assigned  to 
help  him,  had  the  little  man  under  surveillance.  As 
far  as  eye  could  discern,  Loveman  was  preserving 
the  established  routine  of  his  life:  a  figure  at  various 
public  resorts  until  three  —  then  to  bed  —  up  at 
eight  —  at  his  office  at  nine-thirty  —  then  with  his 
dinner  at  seven  beginning  the  round  of  pleasure  for 
the  night. 

But  on  the  fourth  evening  after  Jack's  disappear- 
322 


MARY  REGAN 

ance  there  was  a  slight  variation.  Clifford,  supping 
with  Uncle  George,  whose  company  he  found  a 
boon  in  this  late-houred  routine,  saw  Loveman 
start  home  at  a  little  before  two,  an  hour  earlier 
than  was  his  wont.  In  a  taxi  with  Uncle  George 
Clifford  followed  Loveman's  car,  saw  Loveman 
when  he  came  to  one  of  the  upper  West  Forties,  — 
a  street  of  one-time  handsome  residences,  —  slip  out 
of  his  car  and  walk  rapidly  through  the  quiet,  de 
serted  cross-street.  Clifford  also  got  quickly  out  of 
his  taxi,  and  slipped  into  the  dark  shadow  of  a  stoop 
—  where  Uncle  George,  showing  a  surprising  quick 
ness,  joined  him  a  moment  later. 

A  little  way  down  this  street,  before  a  black- 
windowed  house,  Clifford  noted  two  empty,  shadowy 
automobiles ;  he  saw  that  they  were  alike  at  least  in 
this,  that  both  were  low  and  long,  built  evidently 
for  speed  and  the  ability  to  maintain  it. 

Having  reached  this  darkened  and  seemingly 
empty  house,  Loveman  turned  and  ran  quickly  up 
the  high,  old-fashioned  stoop.  The  next  instant  he 
had  let  himself  in  with  a  latch-key. 

"I  suppose  you  know  what  that  place  is?"  whis 
pered  Uncle  George,  gripping  Clifford's  forearm 
sharply. 

"Yes,"  breathed  Clifford  — "the  house  of  Joe 
LeBain!" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  HOUSE  OF   MONSIEUR  LE   BAIN 

MONSIEUR  LE  BAIN,  from  catering  to  the  reckless 
rich  and  to  spendthrifts  who  had  large  sums  that 
abode  with  them  for  a  flitting  month  or  so,  and  to 
monied  persons  about  whose  characters  and  designs 
he  preferred  to  remain  safely  ignorant  —  Monsieur 
Le  Bain  had  discovered  that  such  as  these,  on  oc 
casion,  desired  a  greater  privacy  than  his  Grand 
Alcazar  or  his  Le  Minuit  or  any  other  restaurant 
afforded  them  —  a  sumptuous  exclusiveness  in 
which,  without  danger  of  being  seen  by  uninvited 
eyes  or  their  merry-making  marred  or  restrained  by 
the  propinquity  of  strangers,  a  party  might  dine  or 
sup  en  famille.  Quick  to  see  and  seize  opportuni 
ties,  Le  Bain  had  devised  the  material  equipment  to 
please  such  patronage.  In  addition  to  the  Grand 
Alcazar  and  Le  Minuit,  which  he  advertised  and  to 
which  he  welcomed  all,  he  had  set  up  another  es 
tablishment  which  he  did  not  advertise,  and  of 
which  few  even  knew,  and  to  which  even  fewer  ever 
gained  admission. 

This  was  an  old  brownstone  house  in  the  upper 
Forties  between  Fifth  and  Sixth  Avenues,  outwardly 
most  discreet  and  decorous  —  and,  moreover,  in 
wardly  so  most  of  the  time.  The  house  was  furnished 

324 


MARY  REGAN 

as  a  private  residence,  and  richly  furnished,  too, 
albeit  somewhat  garishly  since  Le  Bain's  latter-day 
aesthetics  had  been  founded  upon  the  gilt  and  rococo 
of  Broadway  restaurants.  There  was  a  large  drawing- 
room  whose  windows  were  so  deftly  curtained  that 
no  inner  light  ever  filtered  into  the  street;  behind 
that  a  large  dining-room,  in  which  one  might  be  as 
merry  as  one  liked  without  passers-by  being  halted 
by  laugh  or  song  —  or  by  any  possible  sound  of  a 
less  happy  character  that  might  originate  therein. 
And  in  the  basement  there  was  a  perfect  kitchen, 
which,  on  those  occasions  when  the  house  was 
briefly  inhabited,  Le  Bain  peopled  with  his  most 
efficient  and  reticent  retainers  —  it  being  under 
stood  that  after  the  dinner  or  supper  had  been 
served,  and  if  the  host  so  directed,  these  cooks  and 
waiters  and  ladies'  maids  should  vanish.  And  that 
the  party  might  not  suffer  from  such  withdrawal, 
there  was  installed  in  the  butler's  pantry  an  ingeni 
ous  refrigerator  in  which  foods  were  kept  cold  and 
wines  properly  iced  —  and  from  which  host  and 
guests  might  serve  themselves. 

Such  was  Le  Bain's  other  establishment.  For  the 
time  paid  for  it  was  actually  the  lessee's  "home"  — 
as  much  immune  from  police  interference  as  any 
other  man's  castle.  This  Le  Bain  would  sub-let  pos 
sibly  two  or  three  times  a  week,  possibly  once  a 
month,  to  some  one  he  knew  or  some  one  with  trust 
worthy  introduction  —  always  at  a  price  commen 
surate  with  the  extraordinary  privacy  he  supplied. 

325 


MARY  REGAN 

And  he  never  asked  questions;  particularly  did  Le 
Bain  prefer  to  know  only  the  name  of  the  renting 
host  —  never  of  the  guests.  Then,  if  anything  ever 
happened  there  which  got  to  the  police,  —  and  it 
might,  —  Le  Bain  would  be  able  to  say  to  interrogat 
ing  officers  that  he  maintained  this  place  for  patrons 
who  wished  to  give  "home  dinner  parties"  —  surely 
a  legitimate  business  enterprise!  —  and  he  knew 
nothing  at  all  about  who  was  there  and  what  they 
did. 

When  Peter  Loveman,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing,  quickly  closed  the  outside  door,  slipped  along 
the  hallway,  and  then  drew  aside  the  hangings  and 
peered  reconnoiteringly  into  the  great  dining-room 
(finished  as  to  walls  and  ceiling  in  paneled  Flemish 
oak,  lighted  by  a  sunlike  chandelier  with  multitu 
dinous  pendants),  he  saw  just  what  he  had  expected 
to  see,  just  what  he  had  so  skillfully  planned  and 
so  adroitly  manipulated.  .About  a  small,  intimate 
table,  food-strewn  and  wine-stained,  —  a  table 
almost  lost  in  this  great  room  which  could  have 
seated  a  party  of  fifty,  —  sat  Nina  Cordova,  Nan 
Burdette,  Hilton,  Jack  Morton,  and  a  slight,  evilly 
handsome  third  man.  His  people  had  done  their 
work  well,  exactly  as  per  instructions,  Loveman 
noted:  the  servants  had  obviously  been  sent  away, 
and  Jack  was  in  the  desired  state  of  reckless  and 
pliable  hilarity.  Loveman  continued  to  look  in  for 
a  moment,  hesitating.  He  would  have  vastly  pre 
ferred  not  to  be  here  —  there  was  too  much  danger 

326 


MARY  REGAN 

for  him.  But  his  clever  scheming,  whose  original 
outline  the  interference  of  Clifford  and  the  uncal- 
culated  elements  of  human  nature  in  Mary  Regan 
had  thrown  repeatedly  into  disarray,  was  now 
nearing  the  culmination  of  what  was  its  latest  re 
adjustment. 

Loveman  had  held  back  his  many-elemented  new 
plan  —  two  big  plans  they  were,  in  fact  —  because 
each  was  dependent  in  a  degree  upon  the  other.  He 
had  not  dared  act  too  quickly  in  the  matter  of 
Mary,  for  such  a  course  might,  by  some  twist  of 
circumstances  or  human  nature,  affect  Jack,  and 
therefore  upset  what  he  had  contemplated  concern 
ing  Jack.  To  succeed  in  either  he  had  to  succeed  in 
both ;  and  to  succeed  in  both  he  had  to  synchronize 
them.  Whether  he  had  done  this,  the  hour  or  so 
ahead  was  to  prove. 

Loveman  frankly  admitted  to  himself  that  his 
affairs  and  his  own  personal  safety  were  in  a  critical 
condition  —  critical  to  a  degree  never  before  reached 
in  his  career.  As  he  now  had  matters  planned,  he 
stood  to  win  everything  —  or  almost  everything; 
and  also  he  stood  to  lose  everything  —  or  almost 
everything.  In  such  a  crisis,  where  all  was  at  stake, 
he  had  to  be  on  hand  —  despite  any  added  risks  — 
to  watch  over,  and  if  necessary  direct,  the  final 
moves  of  this  his  ultimate  plaa 

Loveman  stepped  into  the  great  dining-room,  and 
stepped  also  into  a  scene  that  was  typical  of  how 
the  forces  which  are  behind  Big  Pleasure,  which  are 

327 


MARY  REGAN 

a  part  of  it,  handle  those  who  weakly  or  unwarily 
let  themserves  be  carried  too  far  by  its  alluring  and 
mighty  current. 

"Good-evening,  everybody,"  he  called  cheerily. 
"Hello,  Jack.  This  is  certainly  one  quiet  little  birth 
day  party  you're  giving."  Loveman  had  himself 
instigated  it,  though  these  five  at  the  table  had 
brought  it  to  pass.  "Kind  of  you  to  invite  me, 
Jack." 

"Got  to  have  ole  Peter  —  else  no  birthday  party," 
cried  Jack,  swaying  up  and  taking  Loveman's  hand, 
holding  on  to  one  of  Nina's  with  his  left.  "Had 
three  birthday  parties  this  week;  goin'  have  seven 
next  week.  Peter,  y're  invited  to  'em  all!  You 
there,  Slim,"  —  this  to  the  slight,  handsome  young 
man,  —  "get  fresh  bottle  Pommery,  open  for  ole 
Peter  Loveman." 

Without  taking  his  eyes  off  Jack,  Loveman  let 
them  also  include  Nina  Cordova.  She  gave  an  almost 
imperceptible  nod. 

"Thanks,  Jack,"  said  Loveman;  and  then  in  an 
amiably  chiding  tone:  "But  I  must  say  I'm  sur 
prised.  I  thought  you  had  settled  down  to  be  a 
steady  business  man." 

"Damn  business!" 

"  But  your  wife,  Jack?  I  thought  you  were  trying 
to  attend  to  business  for  her  sake." 

Jack  showed  a  flash  of  petulant  ill-temper. 
"Tha's  wha'  make  me  sore  at  her!  Always  driv- 
in'  me  to  work.  Always  work  —  always  business! 

328 


MARY  REGAN 

Man's  got  ri'  to  HT  relaxation,  ain't  he?"  His  good 
nature  was  back  again.  "Tell  you  wha',  man's  got 
ri'  to  do  as  he  likes.  Tell  you  wha',  nothin'  like  bein' 
free!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  put  in  Nina  with  a  chal 
lenging  shrug  of  her  dainty  bare  shoulders,  and  a 
disbelieving  smile.  "That's  what  you  say  —  but 
you  would  n't  really  dare  do  it  and  be  it.  You  see, 
Peter,"  with  her  pleasing  drawl,  —  she  was  a  better 
actress  off  the  stage  than  on  it,  —  "this  bold  young 
gentleman,  who  believes  so  strongly  in  his  right  to 
do  as  he  pleases,  has  just  been  trying  to  tell  me  how 
much  he  loves  me.  He's  a  nice  little  boy,  Jack,  - 
but  I  don't  believe  him." 

"But,  Nina,  KT  girl,  I  do  love  you!"  protested 
Jack.  "Here's  Slim  with  tha'  champagne.  Slim, 
fill  all  glasses.  Everybody  ready?  All  ri'  —  here's 
Nina,  only  girl  I  love,  only  girl  I  ever  goin*  love!" 

Jack  drained  his  glass.  The  others  merely  sipped 
theirs. 

"  But  drinking  a  glass  of  wine  does  n't  prove  any 
thing,"  said  Nina,  with  her  pleasantly  provoking 
drawl.  "You  say  you're  free,  and  you  say  you  love 
me  —  but  you're  afraid  really  to  prove  it." 

"Not  afraid!"  Jack  declared  stoutly.  "Prove  it 
any  way  you  say!" 

She  gazed  at  him  in  amused  skepticism  —  yet  a 
most  alluring  smile  on  her  young  face.  "Oh,  no,' you 
would  n't,  Jack.  There's  only  one  way  to  prove 
your  independence  and  your  love.  You  know  what 

329 


MARY  REGAN 

that  is  —  to  drop  everything  else,  and  go  away  with 
me." 

"  I  '11  do  it  to-night! "  he  cried.  "Say,  listen,  Nina, 

—  know  a  KT   place  up  in  Adirondacks  —  nice, 
quiet  liT  place — " 

"No,  thanks,"  she  interrupted.  "If  you  took  me 
off  into  hiding,  that  would  n't  prove  anything.  Be 
sides,  I  want  to  be  where  there's  something  doing, 
and  where  there's  people  —  you  understand,  classy 
people." 

"Tha's  all  ri'!  Make  it  Newport,  Bar  Harbor, 
any  ole  swell  resort  you  like.  I'm  no  quitter!" 

"  I  believe  you  really  are  in  earnest,"  mused  Nina, 
her  large  eyes  upon  him. 

"Sure,  I'm  earnest!    Make  it  Narragansett  Pier 

—  any  ole  place  you  like!" 

She  shook  her  head,  and  sighed.  "You're  awfully 
good,  Jack,  but  it  can't  be  done.  I  Ve  no  clothes  — 
and  those  places  take  clothes  —  and  clothes,  the 
right  sort  of  clothes,  they  take  money  —  and  I  have 
no  money." 

"Wha's  money!"  Jack  laughed.  "Tha's  nothing! 
I  got  money.  I  give  you  a  check." 

"Really?"  —  the  large,  almost  childish  eyes  still 
upon  him.  "Yes,  you  really  are  in  earnest.  But  one 
check  would  n't  buy  all  I  need." 

"You  liT  fool  —  pre'  liT  fool,"  he  cried,  patting 
her  cheek, and  laughing  again.  "I  can  make  it  one 
big  check." 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  know  anything 
330 


MARY  REGAN 

about  checks  and  banks,  but  I  know  it  would  take 
three." 

"All  ri',"  he  said  good-humoredly,  tickled  by  her 
ignorance.  He  drew  out  his  pocket  check-book. 
"How  much?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Could  n't  you  just  sign  your 
name,  and  let  me  fill  those  spaces  when  I  buy  the 
things?" 

"Sure.  Peter,  you  always  carry  ole  fountain  pen. 
Lemme  have  ole  fountain  pen  jus'  one  minute." 

The  pen  was  handed  over.  Jack  signed  three 
checks  and  passed  them  to  Nina.  She  murmured 
warm  thanks,  and  then  looked  from  them  to  him, 
apologetic  doubt  in  her  eyes. 

"A  woman's  clothes  cost  an  awful  lot,  Jack,  — 
more  than  you  guess.  Would  it  be  all  right  if  I  had 
to  fill  these  in  for  perhaps  as  much  as  five  hundred 
dollars  apiece?" 

Again  Jack  laughed.  "Sure  —  you  pre'  liT 
fool!" 

"You  can  laugh,  but  I  want  to  be  certain,"  she 
protested.  "  I  don't  want  to  get  in  trouble  by  having 
people  come  after  me  for  having  passed  checks  that 
had  no  money  behind  them." 

Again  Jack  laughed.  "'S  all  ri',  Nina.  Listen." 
He  leaned  toward  her  confidentially.  "Other  day, 
you  know,  I'm  twenty-five;  came  into  nice  liT  ole 
pile  money.  Soak  it  away  in  bank.  Since  then  I  buy 
tha*  nice  li'l'  ole  car  —  the  car  I  drive  you  up  here 
in,  Nina  —  some  li'l'  ole  car  when  I  turn  her  loose  — 

331 


MARY  REGAN 

nothin'  ever  passes  her —  an'  I  draw  out  HV  spendin* 
money.  Tha's  all."  He  snickered  once  more.  "Five 
hundred  —  is  my  check  good  for  tha'  —  oh,  say! 
Listen,  Nina.  It's  all  down  on  stubs  of  my  check 
book  —  wha'  I  deposit  —  wha'  I  draw  out.  Look 
for  yourself  —  tha'll  show  you !  " 

He  handed  her  the  check-book.  She  examined 
the  stubs,  then  gazed  at  him  in  stupefaction. 

"Why!"  she  said  breathlessly,  —  "why  —  over 
one  hundred  and  eighty-nine  thousand  dollars!" 

"Sure!"  He  grinned  delightedly.  "Am  I  good 
for  five  hundred  —  eh,  Nina?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Jack.  Why — I  never 
dreamed  —  Then,  of  course,  it  will  be  all  right  if  I 
make  them  as  much  as  five  hundred  each." 

Her  face  broke  into  a  sudden,  na'ive  smile.  "And 
I  tell  you  what,  Jack,  —  I  '11  make  them  payable  to 
'Cash,'  then  I  won't  have  to  endorse  them  nor  will 
anybody  else  —  and  if  anybody  wants  to  start  a 
scandal,  why,  nobody  that  sees  them  will  ever  sus 
pect,  and  certainly  not  be  able  to  prove,  that  I  got 
money  from  you.  It'll  protect  both  of  us." 

Nina  seemed  to  have  another  inspiration  —  a 
very  business-like  one.  "And  what's  more,  I '11  just 
fill  these  in  now  and  have  it  all  done  with.  Peter, 
let  me  have  your  fountain  pen.  Thanks.  And,  Jack, 
while  I  'm  writing,  you  might  pour  me  a  fresh  glass, 
and  yourself  one,  and  one  for  the  others  —  that's  a 
dear  boy.  Remember  you're  the  host." 

While  Jack  was  unsteadily  doing  a  host's  duty, 
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MARY  REGAN 

decanting  almost  as  much  of  the  amber  fluid  upon 
the  cloth  as  into  the  glasses,  Nina  filled  out  the 
checks;  and  as  she  wrote  she  three  times  repeated 
aloud :  "  Payable  to  —  Cash  —  Five  —  Hundred  — 
Dollars." 

She  returned  Loveman's  pen,  waved  the  checks 
daintily  until  the  ink  had  dried,  then  slipped  them 
within  her  sex's  invariable  postal  box.  Loveman 
glanced  at  his  watch  and  rose  briskly. 

"Excuse  me  a  minute  or  so,"  he  said.  "  I  promised 
to  call  up  a  party  at  two  o'clock,  and  it's  almost 
half  after." 

He  disappeared  through  the  heavily  curtained 
doorway  through  which  he  had  entered.  The  next 
moment  he  reappeared. 

"Nina,  just  as  I  started  to  use  the  'phone,  there 
came  a  call  for  you.  A  woman,  but  she  refused  to 
give  her  name." 

When  Nina  had  stepped  into  the  hall  and  the 
heavy  curtains  had  swung  behind  her,  Loveman  si 
lently  held  out  his  right  hand.  Also  in  silence  Nina 
reached  within  the  bosom  of  her  gown,  drew  out  the 
checks  and  handed  them  to  him.  He  unfolded  them, 
scrutinized  them  sharply,  refolded  them,  and  slipped 
them  into  an  inner  pocket. 

"Nina,  you  certainly  did  it  great,"  he  said  in, a 
whisper.  "If  you  were  as  good  on  the  stage  as  you 
are  in  a  play  like  this,  Dave  Belasco  would  be  paying 
you  a  thousand  a  week.  Great  stuff,  Nina!" 

And  then  rapidly:  "Go  on  back  in.  Remember 
333 


MARY  REGAN 

you've  got  to  keep  him  going  for  two  days.  He 
must  n't  suspect  a  thing,  and  we  've  got  to  keep 
him  out  of  the  way  until  these  checks  go  through." 

"I  understand,"  and  silently  that  excellent  off 
stage  actress  reentered  the  drawing-room. 

Beneath  the  stairway  of  Le  Bain's  house  of  a  hun 
dred  precautions  was  an  item  which  on  occasions 
helped  measurably  toward  the  ultra-private  pleas 
ures  of  his  guests  —  a  telephone  installed  in  a  closet. 
Loveman  stepped  through  the  door  of  this,  closed 
it,  and  after  a  wait  was  speaking  to  Mary  Regan 
at  the  Mordona  —  speaking  in  a  well-mimicked 
voice :  — 

"Hello.  .  .  .  This  is  Lieutenant  Jimmie  Kelly,  of 
the  Tenderloin  Squad,  —  you  know,  friend  of  Mr. 
Clifford.  Mr.  Clifford  has  just  found  Mr.  Morton  - 
Jack  Morton,  I  mean.  Jack  is  sick  of  what  he 's  been 
doing  the  last  few  days  —  half  crazy  with  remorse, 
you  understand.  Mr.  Clifford  can't  leave  Jack,  and 
he  asked  me  to  telephone  you  to  come  for  him. 
We're  all  at"  —  here  Loveman  gave  the  address  — 
"it's  one  of  those  old  private  houses  made  into  an 
exclusive  restaurant.  Just  ring  and  I  '11  let  you  in. 
.  .  .  All  right,  then,  we  '11  expect  you  in  half  an  hour. " 

He  called  a  second  number,  which  he  got  instantly, 
and  he  spoke  in  his  natural  voice,  though  his  words 
to  any  other  ears  save  those  at  the  end  of  the  wire, 
might  have  been  enigmatic :  — 

"  I  wish  to  report  a  full  crop,"  he  said,  "  Immedi 
ate  delivery  is  requested." 

334 


MARY  REGAN 

With  that  he  hung  up  and  stepped  out  of  the 
closet,  wiping  away  the  moisture  begotten  by  the 
stifling  air  of  the  cubicle.  The  full-bodied  little  man, 
that  Fifth  Avenue  and  Broadway  knew  best  as  an 
amiable,  unflurried  smile,  was  now  set  and  grim  of 
face,  excited  with  suspense  and  calculations.  All 
had  thus  far  gone  well  with  his  plan.  Immediately 
before  him  was  the  next  vital  development,  swiftly 
approaching  its  culmination.  If  all  went  there,  too, 
as  planned  —  why,  he  would  be  safe  —  no  man  could 
touch  him  —  and  once  emerged  from  the  desperate 
methods  into  which  his  present  danger  had  forced 
him,  he  would  be  more  careful  in  the  future. 

Resuming  his  amiable  smile,  Peter  Loveman  re 
joined  his  companions  in  the  dining-room. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

CLIFFORD   WAITS   ON   GUARD 

FOR  a  minute  or  more,  after  he  had  seen  Loveman 
go  up  the  high  stoop  of  Le  Bain's  dark-windowed 
house,  Clifford  had  stood  with  Uncle  George  in  the 
shadow  across  the  deserted  street  and  had  thought 
rapidly.  He  knew  the  character  of  that  silent,  re 
spectable-fronted  residence;  he  had  heard  rumors, 
vague,  to  be  sure,  of  certain  happenings  that  had 
taken  place  within ;  and  he  had  heard  rumors  — 
again  only  rumors  —  of  happenings  in  which  unwit 
nessed  and  unrestrained  pleasure  was  not  the  domi 
nant  purpose  of  the  organizer  of  the  party.  He  was 
certain  that  some  vital  phase  of  Loveman's  shrewd 
scheming  was  being,  or  was  to  be,  enacted  within : 
Le  Bain's  reticent  and  expensive  house  was  not 
taken  for  ordinary  pleasures  or  commonplace  enter 
prises. 

He  had  to  get  inside,  somehow;  he  had  to  know 
what  was  happening  there.  Without  making  the 
test,  he  knew  Le  Bain  would  have  upon  those  two 
front  doors,  stoop  and  basement,  locks  of  a  charac 
ter  that  it  would  be  wasted  time  to  try  to  pick  or 
force  quietly.  Of  course  he  might  get  police  aid,  and, 
ignoring  such  a  mere  detail  as  law,  might  break 
down  a  door  —  but  that  would  give  the  alarm  to 

336 


MARY  REGAN 

whoever  might  be  within  and  would  spoil  every 
thing.  And  then  he  might  ring  the  bell,  and  before 
the  person  who  answered  could  slam  the  door  upon 
him,  he  could  drive  his  way  through  —  but  this 
again  would  give  alarm  and  would  ruin  everything. 
The  very  essence  of  the  plan  forming  in  his  mind 
was  to  try  to  keep  himself  in  the  unseen  background, 
to  discover  just  what  Loveman  and  his  associates 
had  under  way,  to  let  them  carry  their  plan  through 
to  its  completion,  and  then,  when  he  had  the  goods 
on  them,  to  act  swiftly.  That  is,  if  he  could.  There 
was  no  other  way. 

With  Uncle  George  he  reentered  the  waiting  taxi- 
cab  and  hurried  toward  Le  Minuit.  On  Broadway  he 
met  two  of  Lieutenant  Jimmie  Kelly's  plain-clothes 
men  who  were  willingly  impressed  into  his  sendee. 

At  the  blazing  entrance  to  Le  Minuit  Uncle 
George  halted.  "I  guess  I'll  not  go  up  with  you, 
son,"  he  said.  "I  '11  do  more  good  if  I  don't  openly 
mess  in  police  affairs.  But  I'll  hang  about." 

Clifford  nodded.  With  the  two  plain-clothes  men 
he  mounted  the  wide  bright  stairway  that  led  to  the 
Midnight  Cafe. 

"Tell  Le  Bain  I  want  to  see  him  in  his  office,"  he 
said  to  the  door-man,  and  moved  quickly  among 
the  tables  and  passed  through  a  gray-and-gilt  door. 
In  less  than  a  minute  Le  Bain  entered. 

''Joe,"  Clifford  began  brusquely,  without  prelude, 
"I  want  the  key  to  that  private  house  of  yours,  and 
I  want  it  damned  quick." 

337 


MARY  REGAN 

Le  Bain  tried  to  look  blank.  "What  private 
house?  Why,  Bob,  I  don't  know  — " 

"Cut  out  the  stalling!"  interrupted  Clifford.  "It 
won't  do  you  any  good  —  and  I  've  no  time  to  listen 
to  it.  I  know  all  about  that  house.  And  you  need  n't 
say  the  people  who  have  it  to-night  have  the  only 
keys  —  I  know  you  have  a  lot  of  duplicates  for  the 
convenience  of  members  of  a  party  that  prefer  not 
to  go  there  in  a  group.  So  come  across!" 

"But,  Bob,  honest  to  God  —  " 

"No  time  for  your  lies,  Joe!  Now,  you  listen  to 
this  if  you  care  for  your  own  health.  The  people 
there  won't  know  I  got  in  with  your  consent,  and 
you'll  not  get  in  bad  with  them.  That  is,  unless 
they  are  pulling  something  raw  there  —  in  which 
case  I  can  testify  that  you  assisted  me.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  you  don't  come  across  I  '11  have  the 
Commissioner  of  Licenses  revoke  your  license  for 
Le  Minuit  within  twenty-four  hours,  and  you'll  find 
you'll  never  be  able  to  do  business  again  in  this 
town.  Quick,  now,  —  let's  have  that  key!" 

Monsieur  Le  Bain,  immigrant  from  somewhere  in 
that  part  of  France  which  lies  below  Fourteenth 
Street,  slowly  turned  about  and  fumbled  in  a  drawer 
of  his  desk.  He  was  a  long  time  about  it,  but  when 
he  finally  turned  there  was  a  key  in  his  long  yellowish- 
white  hands.  Clifford  took  the  key,  but  as  he  did  so 
he  caught  the  fading  remnant  of  a  crafty  look  in 
Le  Bain's  shifty  eyes. 

"Boys,"  he  said  sharply,  "you  stick  right  here 

338 


MARY  REGAN 

and  entertain  this  gentleman  for  two  hours.  He  can 
do  anything  he  likes  except  talk  to  people  —  or  talk 
into  that  telephone." 

Clifford  caught  the  twitch  in  Le  Bain's  face,  and 
he  knew  he  had  forestalled  the  other's  intent  to 
telephone  warning  to  the  brief  tenants  of  the  house. 

Clifford  was  down  in  the  street  two  minutes  after 
he  had  entered  Le  Minuit.  Here  he  found  Uncle 
George,  waiting. 

"Hate  to  use  you  as  a  messenger  boy,  Uncle 
George,"  he  said  rapidly — "but  you're  the  best 
possible  man  for  the  job.  Mind  skirmishing  around 
Broadway  until  you  find  Jimmie  Kelly  and  some 
more  of  his  men?" 

"  I  'm  hired,"  the  old  man  replied  promptly. 

"Tell  Jimmie  to  hang  around  the  Knickerbocker 
on  the  chance  that  I  may  telephone  him.  And  you 
might  hang  around  the  'phone  yourself." 

"I '11  never  leave  it!"  said  Uncle  George. 

Clifford  hurried  from  Le  Minuit,  and  five  minutes 
later  he  was  unlocking  the  heavy  outside  door,  and 
then  the  door  within  that,  of  the  dark-faced  house 
in  the  upper  Forties.  He  crept  down  the  dim  hall, 
muted  with  Persian  rugs,  and  soon  he  was  gazing 
through  cautiously  parted  curtains  into  the  oak- 
paneled  dining-room,  and  at  the  six  celebrants  of 
Jack  Morton's  third  birthday  party  of  that  week. 

Clifford  watched  and  listened,  every  sense  alert. 
The  last  of  that  little  scene  between  Jack  and  Nina 
Cordova  over  the  checks  was  being  enacted :  he  saw 

339 


MARY  REGAN 

Jack,  laughing  at  the  business  ignorance  of  the 
upre'  HT  fool,"  sign  the  checks  and  hand  them 
over  —  and  he  saw  Nina's  scribbling  pen  fill  them 
in  (before  Jack's  eyes)  —  and  he  heard  her  slowly 
repeat:  "  Payable  to  —  Cash  —  Five —  Hundred  — 
Dollars." 

Clifford  drew  a  quick  breath.  He  understood  it 
all  now  —  or  thought  he  did.  So  that  was  what 
Loveman  was  up  to!  Well,  it  was  worth  Loveman's 
while  to  pay  almost  any  price  for  the  guaranteed 
privacy  of  Le  Bain's  house! 

The  next  moment  Loveman  was  coming  straight 
toward  him.  But  Clifford  had  already  made  a  swift 
survey  of  the  resources  of  his  situation;  and  before 
Loveman  was  in  the  hallway,  he  was  behind  a  pair 
of  tapestries  at  the  forward  end  of  the  hall.  The 
space  behind  him  was  unlighted,  but  he  sensed  that 
he  was  in  the  drawing-room.  Peering  out,  he  saw  the 
brief  scene  between  Nina  and  Loveman.  That  little 
scene  convinced  him  that  he  had  been  correct  in  his 
conclusion  of  a  few  minutes  before  as  to  the  signifi 
cance  of  this  affair  in  this  house  that  told  no  secrets. 

For  a  minute  Clifford  thought  he  had  solved  the 
mystery  —  that  he  had  his  case  complete,  all  except 
arranging  for  his  arrests.  Then  Loveman  entered 
the  telephone  booth  beneath  the  stairway.  That 
was  a  new  element.  What  could  Loveman  be  about? 
Clifford  leaned  out  and  strove  to  listen,  but  not  one 
word  of  Loveman's  filtered  through  the  closet's 
sound-proof  door. 

340 


MARY  REGAN 

Loveman  left  the  booth  and  rejoined  the  com 
pany.  Clifford  had  noted  a  slit  of  light  at  one  side 
of  the  darkened  drawing-room,  and  toward  this  he 
now  noiselessly  made  his  way.  The  slit  proved  to  be 
a  parting  in  the  heavy  curtains  between  the  drawing- 
and  dining-rooms.  Motionlessly  Clifford  watched 
the  group  of  six  —  and  all  the  while  he  wondered 
what  Loveman's  telephoning  could  be  about.  There 
was  drinking,  and  banter,  and  reassertions  of  Jack's 
determination  to  prove  himself  a  free  spirit,  and 
two  stumbling  attempts  by  Jack  to  dance  with 
Nina  to  the  music  of  his  own  singing  —  and  thus 
half  an  hour  passed. 

Presently  there  was  a  ring.  At  a  word  from  Love 
man,  the  evilly  handsome  young  man  —  "Slim" 
Harrison,  Clifford  knew  him  to  be,  a  crack  driver  of 
racing-cars,  and  a  proficient  in  all  the  evils  of  Broad 
way  —  rose  and  left  the  drawing-room  and  passed 
forward  through  the  hallway.  Clifford  heard  him 
open  the  front  door,  and  remark  courteously :  "Come 
right  in  —  Mr.  Clifford  is  waiting  for  you." 

Footsteps  —  two  pairs  of  them  —  returned  down 
the  hallway,  and  then  Clifford  saw  Slim  Harrison 
swing  apart  the  other  pair  -of  tapestries,  saying, 
"They're  waiting  for  you  in  here."  And  then  step 
ping  into  the  brilliant  light  of  the  great  dining-room 
he  saw  Mary  Regan. 

Two  paces  within  the  doorway  she  suddenly 
halted.  "Where's  Mr.  Clifford  and  Lieutenant 
Kelly?"  she  exclaimed.  Clifford  saw  her  stiffen  and 

341 


MARY  REGAN 

sharply  eye  the  group  at  the  table.  Then  her  gaze 
fixed  upon  Jack,  and  she  said  quietly  enough:  "Jack 
—  I  Ve  come  to  take  you  home." 

Jack  swayed  uncertainly  to  his  feet,  his  face  sag 
ging  with  amazement.  "Why  —  why  —  Mary  —  " 

But  Clifford  heard  nothing  of  the  next  few  sen 
tences.  That  instant  he  understood  it  all  —  or 
thought  he  did.  He  knew  now  the  substance  of 
Loveman's  telephone  message.  He  saw  now  the 
magnitude  of  this  present  situation  just  before  him. 
Loveman's  great  scheme  —  the  whole  of  it  —  had 
been  planned  and  drawn  together,  and  timed  to 
take  place  within  that  hour.  Clifford  did  not  yet 
prevision  the  exact  character  of  the  further  develop 
ments  —  but  what  better  place  for  it  than  Le  Bain's 
house,  from  which  no  sound  issued,  which  kept 
secret  all  it  saw  and  heard? 

Swiftly,  silently,  Clifford  slipped  out  into  the 
hallway,  into  the  telephone  closet,  and  closed  the 
sound-proof  door.  He  got  the  Knickerbocker  Hotel 
on  the  wire,  and  a  few  minutes  later  he  was  snap 
ping  out  sentences  to  Uncle  George. 

"What,  Jimmie  hasn't  showed  up  yet!  .  .  .  For 
God's  sake,  get  hold  of  him  somehow  —  tell  him  to 
come  right  over  to  Le  Bain's  house  —  you  know  the 
number  —  with  three  or  four  of  his  men.  Something 
big  is  going  to  break!  —  big!  —  you  get  me?  And 
tell  him  to  round  up  Mr.  Morton  on  the  way  and 
see  that  he  comes  here  after  his  son.  I'll  put  the 
key  under  the  doormat,  so  he  can  get  in  without 

342 


MARY  REGAN 

disturbing  any  one.   I  want  the  thing  to  come  to  a 
head  before  we  act." 

Noiselessly  Clifford  crept  out  and  hid  the  key. 
Then  noiselessly  he  slipped  back  to  his  post  at  the 
curtains  in  the  drawing-room. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

WHEN   WOMEN   NEVER  TALK 

MARY  REGAN  had  drawn  nearer  the  table,  and  pale, 
her  figure  tense,  she  was  gazing  fixedly  at  Jack  - 
waiting.  Jack  was  gazing  back  sheepishly,  stub 
bornly,  —  and  Nina  Cordova  and  Nan  Burdette 
and  Hilton  were  staring  at  Mary  in  insolent  triumph. 
Little  Loveman's  face  was  expressionless.  Behind 
her,  near  the  doorway,  ready  to  move  swiftly,  if 
there  was  need,  stood  Slim  Harrison. 

At  that  instant  Clifford  realized  that  his  supreme 
interest  was  centered  upon  that  trapped  figure  in 
the  next  room  —  and  that  his  supreme  efforts  would 
have  as  their  chief  object  the  extrication  of  Mary 
Regan  from  whatever  crisis  might  be  about  to 
develop.  But  at  the  same  time  Clifford  realized  that 
his  duty  demanded  that  he  hold  himself  in  check, 
and  allow  Loveman  to  reveal  the  details  of  his  plan 
by  action,  and  then  catch  him  in  the  act.  He  would 
then  have  evidence  —  real  evidence. 

"Are  you  coming,  Jack?"  Mary  was  saying 
quietly. 

"Go  on  with  her,  Jack,"  Nina  Cordova  taunted 
him.  "  None  of  us  believed  you  had  the  nerve  really 
to  go  through  with  what  you  were  bragging  about!" 

"Man's  got  ri'  do  wha'ever  he  pleases  —  got  ri' 

344 


MARY  REGAN 

have  KT  fun,"  Jack  said  obstinately,  his  eyes  still 
fixed  on  Mary. 

"Are  you  coming,  Jack?"  she  repeated  in  the 
same  quiet  voice. 

He  wavered.  Clifford  sensed  that  the  young  fel 
low's  finer  instincts  were  trying  to  struggle  through 
the  murk  of  his  being;  and  mixed  with  his  disgust  he 
felt  a  pity  for  this  likable  weakling  who  had  been 
brought  to  this  low  estate. 

"All  ri',"  Jack  said  sullenly,  and  started  to  leave 
the  table. 

"One  moment,  Jack,"  cut  in  the  soft,  even  voice 
of  Loveman  —  and  Clifford  saw  Loveman  give 
Mary  a  quick,  vindictive  glance.  "Before  you  go 
with  her,  Jack,  I  think  you  ought  to  know  who  she  is. 
I  only  just  now  found  out  myself.  Her  name  is  Mary 
Regan,  all  right,  but  she  comes  of  a  crook  family, 
and  she  herself  has  been  a  confidence-woman  and 
all-around  adventuress.  She  married  you  solely  to 
do  you  out  of  your  money.  Ask  her  to  deny  it!" 

"It's  true,  Jack.    But—" 

"Understand  now  why  she  wanted  to  keep  your 
marriage  secret? "  Loveman  cut  in.  "Plain  enough : 
she  knew  that  if  it  were  generally  known  that  you 
had  married  her,  you  would  quickly  learn  the  truth 
about  her  and  that  would  finish  her  game.  And  that 
self-sacrifice  business  in  letting  your  father  believe 
that  she  was  your  mistress,  all  in  order  to  protect 
you  —  can't  you  see  that  she  was  really  doing  it  to 
protect  herself,  and  protect  her  own  little  scheme  for 

345 


MARY  REGAN 

playing  you  along  as  a  sucker?  Want  to  go  along  with 
her  now,  do  you,  so  she  can  soak  you  some  more?" 

Jack,  steadying  himself  with  hands  on  the  table, 
was  staring  across  at  Mary.  '"S  tha'  so?"  he  de 
manded  thickly. 

"Part  of  it.   But,  Jack,  listen  —  " 

"I'll  not  listen!  Tha's  enough!"  he  burst  out. 
He  had  irked  at  the  restraints  she  had  put  upon  him ; 
and  since  for  him  she  represented  the  routine  life, 
he  had  unconsciously  begun  to  weary  of  her.  And  all 
the  while  he  had  been  sneakingly  ashamed  that  he 
had  accepted  this  supposed  sacrifice  from  her.  "  I  '11 
not  go  home!"  he  shouted  across  at  her.  "Un'er- 
stand?  I'll  never  go  home  !Un'erstand?  I'm  through 
with  you!  Un'erstand?  You  crook,  you  —  you  liT, 
dam',  sneakin'  crook!" 

Mary  stared  at  the  inflamed,  wine-flushed  face 
thrust  toward  her.  Then  she  drew  a  deep  breath  — 
a  breath  tense  and  quivering.  Then  a  heavy  voice 
sounded  behind  her. 

"Guess  you  've  got  the  right  dope  at  last,  Morton, 
on  this  Regan  dame." 

As  Mary  turned  quickly,  Clifford's  eyes  went  to 
the  other  curtained  doorway.  Just  inside  it  stood 
the  broad,  powerful  figure  of  Bradley.  So  engrossed 
had  Clifford  been  in  the  scene  between  Jack  and 
Mary  that  he  had  not  heard  Bradley's  entrance  — 
which  had  doubtless  been  effected  by  one  of  Le 
Bain's  many  duplicate  keys. 

Clifford  gasped  within  himself.  The  affair  was 
346 


MARY  REGAN 

even  bigger  than  he  had  thought  a  few  minutes  gone. 
And  in  a  flash  he  guessed  the  explanation  of  Brad- 
ley's  prompt  appearance  upon  the  scene:  that  while 
in  the  telephone  closet  Loveman  had  sent  two  mes 
sages  —  that  after  getting  Mary's  promise  to  come, 
he  had  notified  Bradley. 

Mary  looked  back  at  Loveman,  ignoring  Jack. 
Clifford  could  see  that  her  face  was  very  pale;  but 
she  was  straight  and  her  gaze  was  unafraid. 

"It's  no  use  trying  to  make  Jack  see  the  truth, 
Peter  Loveman,"  she  said  in  a  slow,  determined 
voice.  "There's  no  denying  that  you've  beaten 
me.  You  have  removed  all  my  motives  for  keeping 
silent  about  you.  I  know  enough  about  you  and  can 
produce  enough  evidence  to  secure  your  conviction 
on  half  a  dozen  counts  —  and,  believe  me,  Peter 
Loveman,  I'm  going  to  give  all  that  evidence  to 
Mr.  Clifford." 

She  turned  to  Bradley,  and  her  steady  voice  went 
on.  "You  were  a  crook  when  you  were  in  the  Police 
Department  —  and  you  've  been  a  crook,  playing 
every  sort  of  crooked,  double-crossing  game,  since 
you  became  a  private  detective  —  and  I  have  the 
evidence  on  you,  too,  that  will  send  you  away  — 
and  believe  me,  Mr.  Bradley,  I'm  going  to  use  it!" 

Loveman  started  toward  her,  but  Bradley  checked 
him  with  a  gesture  of  a  big  hand. 

"Oh,  you  are,  are  you!"  he  said  to  Mary,  and 
advanced  until  he  stood  squarely  before  her.  An 
ugly  look  had  come  into  his  face;  her  last  words  had 

347 


MARY  REGAN 

fired  his  animal  anger.  "Oh,  I  guess  you're  not, 
sister!"  he  said  with  crunching  grimness.  "I've 
had  to  hold  off  on  you  too  long,  but  at  last  I  Ve  got 
you  where  I  want  you!  You  ain't  going  to  expose 
me,  and  you  ain't  going  to  expose  anybody  else,  and 
you  ain't  ever  goin'  to  hurt  anybody!  Do  you  get 
me,  sister?" 

He  was  glowering  with  malignant  purpose.  Clif 
ford  was  wildly  a-pulse  with  the  desire  to  leap  out 
and  hurl  himself  on  Bradley.  But  the  time  had  not 
come;  he  had  to  wait  and  see  the  full  purpose  of  this 
night's  design. 

"And,  let  me  tell  you,  Mary  Regan,"  the  heavy 
voice  gritted  on,  "that  I've  come  here  myself  be 
cause  I  want  the  personal  satisfaction  of  attending 
to  you  —  and  because  I  did  n't  want  any  slip-up  on 
the  job.  And  I'm  going  to  tell  you  in  advance 
just  exactly  what's  going  to  happen  to  you.  Why? 
Because  your  knowing  that  is  going  to  make  you 
suffer  all  the  more  —  and,  damn  you,  you're  going 
to  suffer  the  limit!  I  ain't  afraid  to  talk  out,  because 
we're  all  in  this  together!" 

He  paused  a  minute;  then  demanded:  "Want  to 
know  what's  coming  to  you?" 

She  stood  silent,  eyeing  him  steadily.  Breath 
lessly  Clifford  waited.  Without  being  aware  of  it, 
he  had  drawn  his  automatic. 

"I  ain't  going  to  croak  you.  That  would  be  too 
soft  for  you  —  it  would  be  over  too  soon." 

"Help!"  she  called,  with  all  her  voice. 

348 


MARY  REGAN 

"Go  to  it,  kid,  —  do  it  again,"  encouraged 
Bradley.  "That's  right,  Slim,"  —  Harrison  had 
caught  her  elbows  from  behind,  as  she  had  turned  to 
run.  "I  guess  you'll  stand  still  now  and  hear  me 
through.  First  item,  sister,  —  have  you  heard  of 
that  necklace  that  was  stole  a  week  ago  from  one 
of  the  rich  dames  that  lives  in  the  Mordona?" 

Mary  did  not  speak. 

"It's  a  diamond  necklace,"  Bradley  went  on. 
"Worth  ten  thousand  —  mebbe  twenty.  I've  got 
that  diamond  necklace  on  me  —  never  mind  how  I 
got  it.  Now,  as  I  said,  the  dame  that  lost  the  ice 
lives  in  the  Mordona.  Also  you've  been  living  in 
the  Mordona.  Also,  though  they've  never  hung  a 
case  on  you,  the  police  know  you  've  been  a  crook. 
Now,  that  there  diamond  necklace  is  going  to  be 
found  by  the  police  on  Mary  Regan.  That's  item 
number  one." 

He  paused  to  watch  the  effect  of  this  upon  her. 
White,  she  looked  at  him  unflinchingly. 

"Here 's  item  number  two.  You  see  Nan  Burdette, 
and  Hilton,  and  Slim  Harrison,  —  all  publicly  no 
torious  characters,  —  and  I  know  I  ain't  offending 
any  of  them  when  I  say  that  if  there's  any  such 
thing  as  morals,  they  ain't  never  troubled  any  one 
of  the  three  o'  them.  There's  a  big  car  outside  — 
it's  got  speed,  believe  me  —  and  Slim  is  certainly 
some  driver.  In  about  two  minutes  Nan  and  Hilton 
and  Slim  and  you  start  off  on  a  joy-ride  —  and  you  '11 
be  fixed  so  you  won't  do  any  objecting." 

349 


MARY  REGAN 

Mary  still  gazed  at  him  in  white  steadfastness. 
Clifford  clutched  his  automatic  with  steely  tenseness. 

"And  waiting  in  the  harbor  of  Greenport,  out  at 
the  end  of  Long  Island,  is  a  swell  little  motor  yacht. 
The  crew  has  all  been  fixed.  In  two  or  three  hours 
—  Slim  here  can  make  the  run  in  about  that  time  — 
the  four  of  you  go  aboard  and  begin  a  joy-cruise 
among  those  islands  and  bays  out  there  where 
nobody  is  ever  goin'  to  bother  you.  In  about  ten 
days  the  police  will  be  tipped  off  as  to  who  stole  the 
necklace  and  where  you  're  to  be  found  —  and  you  '11 
be  pinched  in  this  crowd  here,  and  the  necklace 
found  in  the  bottom  of  your  bag.  This  bunch  will 
swear  that  you  came  along  voluntarily  —  that  you 
really  helped  get  up  the  party.  And  the  crew  will 
testify  how  you  and  the  others  behaved  —  and  the 
bunch  here  will  admit  it.  Booze  all  the  time  —  Slim, 
here,  your  special  guy  —  the  lid  off  everything.  I 
guess  you  get  me!" 

If  she  did  not,  Clifford  did.  He  drew  a  deep 
breath.  It  was  all  devilishly  cunning.  But  tense  and 
excited  though  he  was,  Clifford  recognized  that  the 
situation  was  far  larger  than  just  this  one  case  on 
which  he  looked ;  that  in  a  limited  way  it  was  typical. 
Many  a  woman,  in  this  world  where  he  had  been 
working  these  many  months,  had  been  the  victim 
of  kindred  daring  enterprises  when  necessary  for 
the  safety  or  the  projects  of  these  subtle  entrepre 
neurs  of  Big  Pleasure.  And  these  women  had  never 
dared  tell  what  had  happened  to  them. 

350 


MARY  REGAN 

Bradley  drove  on  at  her.  "And  your  being 
pinched  on  a  joy-cruise  with  this  bunch,  which  will 
stamp  you  as  being  the  same  sort  of  character  —  and 
that  necklace  being  found  on  you  —  this,  with  what 
the  police  already  know  about  you,  will  fix  you  good 
and  proper !  Squeal  all  you  want  to  on  me  or  Love- 
man,  or  anybody  you  like  —  you'll  be  so  smeared 
your  word  won't  count  for  a  damn  with  a  judge  or 
anybody  else!" 

Terrible  as  it  was,  Clifford  almost  admired  the 
plan,  so  ghastly  was  it  in  its  completeness,  its  con 
vincingness.  He  saw  that  Mary's  face  was  now 
drawn,  her  eyes  wide  —  saw  that  she  was  perceiv 
ing  as  inescapable  the  cunning  fate  that  had  been 
planned  for  her  —  saw  that  she  was  seeing  it  as  a 
thing  beyond  her  ever  to  explain  away. 

Taut  as  a  violin  string,  Clifford  directed  his  senses 
to  the  front  of  the  house  for  an  instant  —  listening. 
Why  were  not  Jimmie  Kelly  and  the  others  on  hand 
to  reinforce  him?  He  was  not  conscious  that  this 
scene,  which  had  seemed  so  long  to  him,  was  in 
reality  only  a  few  minutes  in  the  acting. 

When  he  peered  back  into  the  dining-room,  Jack 
was  lurching  toward  Bradley.  He  halted  swayingly 
and  pointed  a  finger  at  the  detective,  the  man  that 
was  in  him  struggling  once  more  to  rise. 

"See  here,  Bradley,"  he  said  thickly.  "Tha's  no 
go!  I  no  stan'  f'r  raw  business  like  tha'!" 

"Shut  up,  you  booze  pup!"  Bradley  snapped  at 
him.  "What  we're  doing,  we're  doing  as  much  for 

351 


MARY  REGAN 

you  as  anybody  else.  She's  always  played  you 
rotten,  ain't  she?  Well,  we're  just  fixing  her  so  she'll 
be  showed  up  in  public  for  what  she  really  is  —  and 
so  she  can't  squeeze  any  dough  out  of  you,  and  so's 
you  have  it  easy  getting  a  divorce.  So  back  up,  you 
boob!" 

He  glanced  at  the  group  at  the  table.  "Get  your 
things  on,  Burdette  and  Hilton,"  he  ordered.  He 
turned  again  to  Mary  and  her  keeper:  "All  ready, 
Slim,"  he  announced  sharply. 

His  slow  taunting  of  his  prisoner  now  changed  to 
swiftest  action.  He  drew  from  a  pocket  a  heavy 
strap  which  he  threw  in  a  loop  over  Mary's  head  and 
with  his  huge  strength  buckled  tightly  at  her  el 
bows.  In  the  same  instant  Slim  seized  her  head  from 
behind,  and  with  a  fierce,  practiced  grip  forced 
a  gag  into  her  mouth,  which  the  next  instant  he 
tied. 

' '  Where 's  that  cloak  ? ' '  Bradley  demanded.  Nan 
Burdette  handed  it  to  him,  and  he  flung  it  about 
Mary.  "Slim,  got  your  car  all  ready?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  gimme  that  motor- veil,  Slim."  It  was 
handed  over.  "And  you  keep  out  of  this,  Morton, 
—  remember  we're  doing  it  to  help  you.  Just  hold 
her,  Loveman." 

Nan  Burdette  and  Hilton  stepped  forward  and 
held  apart  the  curtains  —  while  Jack,  his  face  still 
wine-flushed,  looked  on  waveringly,  Nina  holding 
his  arm. 

352 


MARY  REGAN 

Bradley  threw  the  veil  over  Mary's  head  and  be 
gan  to  knot  it  behind.  "Get  ready,  there,  to  take 
her  out!"  he  ordered  sharply. 

"Why  doesn't  Jimmie  Kelly  come?"  Clifford's 
wild  suspense  cried  within  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

WHEN  OLD  FOES  GET  TOGETHER 

BUT  Clifford  dared  wait  no  longer  for  his  reinforce 
ments  —  and  he  dared  not  shoot,  with  Mary  stand 
ing  between  him  and  his  most-desired  target, 
Bradley.  He  sprang  through  the  curtains,  his  auto 
matic  in  his  right  hand,  and  swung  his  left  fist 
mightily  just  beneath  the  ear  of  the  unsuspecting 
Slim  Harrison,  who  went  down  like  a  dead  man. 

"Look  out!"  shrilled  Loveman,  loosening  Mary's 
arm. 

Bradley  whirled  about,  instinctively  holding  Mary 
before  him,  from  whose  shoulders  the  unloosened 
cloak  was  falling,  and  from  whose  face  the  as  yet 
unknotted  veil  fell  away. 

"Come  on,  boys,"  Clifford  cried,  as  if  to  a  squad 
behind  him.  "Guard  the  front  door,  and  round  up 
the  whole  bunch!" 

"Beat  it  through  the  basement!"  Bradley  roared 
to  the  others.  And  at  the  same  instant  he  hurled 
Mary  straight  at  the  on-coming  Clifford.  As  she 
struck  Clifford,  Bradley  leaped  upon  him  and 
knocked  his  pistol  flying  from  his  hand,  and  then, 
brushing  Mary  aside  with  a  powerful  sweep,  he 
grappled  Clifford  in  his  bear-like  arms.  The  two 
men  went  swaying  heavily.  Clifford  had  a  brief 

354 


MARY  REGAN 

vision  of  the  others  staring  on  nonplussed  —  then 
they  were  gone,  and  he  and  Bradley  were  alone, 
except  for  the  limp  Harrison  on  the  floor. 

"So  it  was  all  a  bluff  —  those  others!"  Bradley 
snarled  at  him.  Exultant  triumph  gleamed  in  his 
malignant  face.  "God,  I  been  waiting  —  long 
enough  for  this  —  but  I  'm  going  to  get  you  at  last ! " 

Clifford  tried  to  struggle  free:  Mary  must  have 
been  taken  by  those  others,  and  his  every  impulse 
called  on  him  to  pursue.  But  there  was  no  breaking 
the  clutch  of  those  mighty,  hate-hungry  arms.  He 
tried  only  to  struggle  defensively,  hoping  for  the 
appearance  of  Jimmie  Kelly  —  but  in  a  few  mo 
ments  he  realized  that  if  he  merely  tried  to  hold  his 
own  against  this  maddened  antagonist  he  would 
swiftly  be  a  defeated  man  —  and  that  once  beaten 
down  he  would  be  maimed  to  the  exhaustion  of 
Bradley's  fury.  And  then  he  realized  and  accepted 
this  for  what  it  was  and  what  it  had  to  be:  it  was 
that  "next  time"  for  which  Bradley  had  often 
wished  —  the  "time"  which  between  these  two  old 
enemies  there  was  no  avoiding. 

This  splendid  dining-room  had  in  its  time  looked 
upon  many  strange  scenes,  but  never  had  it  looked 
upon  such  a  scene  as  that  which  followed.  In  each 
man  —  hostile  always,  and  super-enemies  since  Clif 
ford  had  driven  Bradley  from  the  Police  Depart 
ment  by  the  exposure  of  his  criminal  practices  — 
was  the  same  supreme  desire  to  destroy  the  other, 
destroy  him  physically  —  to  crush  him  utterly  with 

355 


MARY  REGAN 

infuriated  muscles.  Grappling  each  other  they  went 
staggering  about  the  great  muted  room.  The  ta 
ble,  with  its  champagne  glasses,  its  silver-and-glass 
epergne  of  terraced  fruit,  went  toppling  over.  The 
next  moment  a  splendid  if  incongruous  buhl  cabinet 
was  a  wreck  and  its  ostentatious  exhibit  of  cut-glass 
was  a  thousand  fragments  upon  the  floor.  And  still 
the  two  men-beasts  swayed  about  in  their  destruc 
tive  fury. 

A  minute  of  this  mad  straining  of  muscle  against 
muscle,  and  that  part  of  Clifford's  rage  which  was 
unbridled  madness  disappeared  —  though  the  rage 
itself  remained.  His  head  began  to  clear.  He  per 
ceived  that  in  such  an  animal-like  struggle  as  this 
he  was  foredoomed:  Bradley  was  the  heavier  and 
had  the  greater  strength.  So  he  began  to  try  to 
break  free:  if  he  could  change  this  to  a  fight  with 
fists,  and  could  keep  Bradley  at  arm's  length,  there 
would  be  a  different  tale,  for  he  knew  himself  Brad- 
ley's  superior  at  boxing.  But  Bradley  also  knew  this 
and  clung  unbreakingly  on:  his  was  the  art  of  the 
New  York  policeman  who  has  risen  from  the  "gas- 
house  district"  —  an  art  in  which  no  practice  that 
will  maim  or  win  is  barred.  He  kicked  fiercely  at 
Clifford's  shins;  he  tried  to  drive  his  knee  up  into 
Clifford's  stomach;  suddenly  bending  his  own  body 
inwardly  into  an  arc,  he  as  suddenly  contracted 
his  gorilla-like  arms,  with  the  intent  to  disable  his 
enemy,  caught  unawares  —  perhaps  break  his  back ; 
and  he  closed  a  huge  hand  upon  Clifford's  face  as 

356 


MARY  REGAN 

though  it  would  strip  the  features  from  the  skull  — 
and  only  removed  that  awful  grip  when  Clifford  sunk 
his  teeth  into  the  heel  of  the  palm. 

For  the  time  Clifford  had  forgotten  all  but  Brad 
ley.  Had  he  thought  of  Jimmie  Kelly,  he  would  now 
have  resented  Jimmie's  entrance. 

All  this  while,  whenever  he  could  get  a  free  arm, 
and  dared  risk  a  blow,  Clifford  was  driving  his  fist 
into  the  glowering  face  before  his  own.  He  was  not 
directing  his  blows  in  the  hope  of  a  knock-out ;  the 
range  was  too  short  for  his  fist  to  secure  the  crashing 
power  for  that;  but  he  sent  his  fists  at  the  lips,  at 
the  nose,  at  the  eyes.  He  was  working  toward  an 
end,  now  —  working  with  a  cold  mind,  though  with 
fury  unabated.  He  wanted  those  lips  and  nostrils 
to  stream  blood;  he  wanted  those  eyes  to  puff  up 
and  close.  That  of  itself  would  not  win  him  this 
gigantic  struggle,  since  Bradley's  great  strength 
would  not  be  reduced  thereby.  But  it  might  cause 
Bradley  to  lose  all  self-control,  and  in  his  huge, 
unguarded  violence  to  give  Clifford  the  opening  for 
which  he  was  working  and  waiting. 

Clifford's  nerves  and  muscles  were  now  remem 
bering  something  of  the  skill  that  had  been  his  when 
he  had  been  a  member  of  his  university's  champion 
wrestling  team.  But  he  was  carefully  masking  his 
plan.  To  Bradley  he  was  apparently  fighting  the 
same  kind  of  fight  as  his  own  —  where  brute  strength 
triumphed  in  the  end.  And  with  Clifford  there  was 
the  question  whether  his  old  skill  at  its  best  would 

357 


MARY  REGAN 

avail  against  such  superior  strength  as  Bradley's  — 
and  also  the  question,  would  he  get  the  chance  to 
use  it? 

At  length  there  came  a  moment  when  Bradley 
thought  that  he  had  won.  He  gave  Clifford  a  su 
preme  bear-hug  —  more  than  once  he  had  thus 
cracked  strong  men's  ribs.  Clifford  gave  a  gasping 
cry,  his  mouth  fell  loosely  agape,  his  knees  gave 
way,  and  he  hung  a  dead  weight  in  Bradley's  arms. 
Bradley  was  not  primarily  a  fist-fighter,  but  he  knew 
the  value  of  a  fist  at  the  right  moment. 

"I've  got  you  now  —  damn  you!"  he  gasped 
fiercely,  and  loosened  his  right  arm  to  draw  back  his 
fist  to  drive  it  into  that  flaccid  face  for  the  finishing 
blow. 

But  that  blow  was  never  delivered.  With  a  light 
ning  swiftness  Clifford  wrenched  free  from  that  too- 
confident  left  arm,  half  dropped  to  the  floor  —  shot 
swiftly  up  with  a  backward  leap  that  placed  him 
behind  Bradley,  and  as  he  came  up  his  left  arm 
darted  under  Bradley's  left  shoulder,  and  his  left 
hand  crooked  itself  upon  the  back  of  Bradley's  bull 
neck.  And  in  the  same  instant  his  right  hand  shot 
forward  and  caught  Bradley's  right  wrist. 

Bradley  gave  a  sneering  laugh.  "Want  a  kid's 
horseback  ride,  do  you!"  Snarling  contemptuously 
again,  Bradley  shook  his  heavy  shoulders  as  a  great 
dog  might  shake  its  dripping  ruff.  But  Clifford  did 
not  fly  off.  Instead  his  body  braced  itself  and  his 
arms  stiffened.  Bradley's  head  was  driven  sharply 

358 


MARY  REGAN 

into  his  chest,  his  right  arm  was  drawn  out  straight. 
He  gave  a  grunt  and  set  his  muscles  contemptuously 
against  this  unknown  maneuver.  Not  yet  did  the 
man  dream  what  was  happening  to  him. 

Grimly  Clifford  began  to  exert  his  strength,  him 
self  wondering  if  he  could  carry  this  thing  through. 
This  hold  that  he  had  upon  Bradley  was  a  hold  that 
he  had  practiced  in  some  fractional  degree  of  its 
potentialities  in  friendly  contests  —  but  never  had 
he  seen  that  hold  used  upon  a  human  being  to  the 
reputed  limits  of  its  effectiveness.  He  recalled  the 
avarice  of  this  man,  the  brutal  cunning,  the  ruth- 
lessness,  the  devil's  misuse  of  power  —  the  thou 
sands  he  had  bled  financially,  the  unnumbered  ones 
he  had  "framed"  and  whose  freedom  he  had  coldly 
sworn  away  —  and  Clifford  was  aflame  with  retrib 
utive  rage  for  all  those  whom  this  man  in  his  might 
had  made  suffer.  It  was  as  though  the  strength  of 
all  these  sufferers  had  been  transferred  into  him. 
Certainly  he  never  had  had  such  might  before. 
Slowly,  inch  by  inch  he  drew  Bradley's  right  arm 
back  and  downward  —  Bradley  straining  with  out 
standing  muscles  and  corded  ligaments  to  withstand 
the  terrific  leverage. 

The  right  arm  reached  its  lowest  arc,  then  Clifford 
began  to  bend  it  back  and  pull  it  up.  A  groan  burst 
from  Bradley  —  then,  "Take  a  chance,  Slim;  for 
God's  sake,  shoot!" 

There  was  a  report:  a  bullet  grazed  Clifford's 
scalp  —  it  must  have  missed  Bradley's  head  by 

359 


MARY  REGAN 

inches.  Clifford,  raising  his  set  face,  his  eyes  bulging 
from  his  own  effort,  saw  the  dazed  Slim  on  one  elbow, 
aiming  at  him  again.  He  swung  Bradley  about,  so 
that  his  body  was  a  better  protection,  and,  heaving, 
panting,  went  on  drawing  that  straining  arm  up  - 
inch  by  inch. 

Suddenly  the  curtains  parted  and  Jimmie  Kelly 
entered,  behind  him  three  of  his  men,  Mr.  Morton 
and  Uncle  George.  Jimmie  saw  Slim's  pointed 
weapon  following  the  pair,  waiting  its  chance;  and 
leaping  in  he  tore  it  from  that  deadly  hand. 

"Steady,  Bob,"  he  cried,  "and  I'll  get  Bradley 
for  you!" 

"Keep  out  of  this!"  Clifford  panted  hoarsely. 
"  I  Ve  got  him  myself." 

They  all  stood  back  and  stared  at  those  straining, 
locked  figures.  The  two  seemed  hardly  to  move,  so 
tensely  was  the  force  of  one  set  against  the  force 
of  the  other.  But  slowly,  slowly,  Clifford  forced 
the  right  arm  of  Bradley  up  behind  his  back.  Then 
summoning  his  all  of  strength,  he  heaved  sharply 
and  mightily  upwards,  as  though  he  was  lifting  the 
very  foundations  of  the  house.  There  was  a  sharp 
report,  almost  as  if  Slim  had  shot  again.  A  cry  of 
agony  burst  from  Bradley,  and  he  went  staggering 
across  the  room,  and  was  saved  from  falling  only  by 
the  embrace  of  one  corner.  Even  so,  he  swayed  on 
his  feet;  gasping  groans  came  from  his  lips;  and  his 
right  arm  hung  loosely  at  his  side  at  a  weird  angle. 

"By  God!"  Uncle  George  ejaculated  slowly.  "I 
360 


MARY  REGAN 

once  said  that  if  ever  anybody  got  Bradley,  you 
would  be  the  man  —  and,  son,  you  certainly  did 
get  him!" 

Himself  reeling,  struggling  for  breath,  Clifford 
gazed  at  the  face  of  his  enemy,  pulpy  and  bleeding 
and  distorted  with  agony.  "Yes,  I  got  him,"  he 
gasped.  Dizzily  he  walked  over  to  Bradley.  "  I  got 
you  this  time,  Bradley,  —  I  got  you  at  last!" 

But  the  loose  figure  with  the  misshapen  face  did 
not  answer;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Bradley  did  not 
hear.  For  a  moment  Clifford,  panting,  stood  gazing 
on  him ;  then  his  mind  began  to  recover  from  the  all- 
engrossing  fury  which  had  accomplished  and  moti 
vated  and  energized  this  struggle.  It  began  to  return 
to  the  larger  issues. 

He  wheeled  about.  "Yes  —  I  got  him.  Jimmie,  I 
think  you'll  find  on  him  that  Mordona  necklace. 
Hand  him  over  to  a  couple  of  your  men.  Yes,  I  got 
him,"  he  repeated.  "But  I  got  only  the  body.  The 
brains  got  away  —  Peter  Loveman." 

"And  Jack?"  eagerly  put  in  Mr.  Morton. 

"He  must  have  gone  with  Loveman  — "  And  as 
Clifford  answered  he  was  asking  himself  a  vastly 
more  vital  question:  where  was  Mary  Regan? 

"But  where  did  they  go?"  cried  the  father. 
"Can't  we  get  him?" 

Clifford  did  not  reply.  Already  his  faculties  had 
recovered;  they  were  working  with  incredible  speed, 
a  speed  that  made  each  thought  a  flash.  He  recalled 
what  he  had  witnessed  and  heard  before  Bradley 

361 


MARY  REGAN 

had  come  —  recalled  the  details  of  the  plot  with 
which  Bradley  had  taunted  his  victim  —  he  totaled 
them  —  he  made  his  deduction. 

He  sprang  across  the  room  with  new  energy  and 
seized  Slim  Harrison  by  the  collar.  ' '  They  would  n't 
have  taken  your  car  without  you !  You  're  going  to 
drive  us!  —  and  you  're  going  to  show  us  all  your 
machine  has  got!  Come  on,  Jimmie,"  he  cried 
sharply.  "No,  Jimmie,  you  and  Uncle  George  go 
down  and  look  through  the  basement  and  see  if 
there 's  signs  of  any  of  them  there  —  and  meet  me 
out  in  front!  Come  on,  Mr.  Morton!" 

And  leaving  the  bruised  and  unregarding  Bradley 
in  charge  of  Jimmie's  men,  Clifford  hurried  the 
dazed  Slim  Harrison  before  him  through  the  tapes 
tries  and  out  of  Le  Bain's  house  of  luxurious  silence. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

PLEASURE  PRESENTS  ITS  BILL 

OVER  the  black,  oiled  boulevard  that  reaches,  with 
many  tributaries  and  parallels,  from  Manhattan's 
Fifty-ninth  Street  Bridge  to  the  twin  points  of  Long 
Island,  Jack  Morton's  new  racing  roadster  was 
speeding  eastward  through  the  heavy  three-o'clock 
night  —  Jack  at  the  wheel,  Nina  Cordova  beside 
him,  and  Loveman  and  Hilton  in  the  seat  behind. 
The  little  lawyer  had  thought  rapidly;  and  now, 
sunk  low  in  the  soft  leather,  he  was  counting  his 
chances  which  had  suddenly  grown  desperate,  but 
which  he  still  saw  as  large,  if  only  there  were  no 
more  slips  and  he  got  his  share  of  luck.  And  as  the 
car  whirred  on,  devouring  the  silent,  deserted  miles, 
on  and  on  went  his  brain,  calculating  his  chances, 
shaping  the  details  of  his  new  course  —  that  brain 
whose  supreme  and  sole  function  was  to  plan  —  in 
which  function  all  other  qualities  and  potentialities 
of  the  man  had  become  centered  and  concentrated, 
and  for  which  they  and  the  body  itself  had  come 
solely  to  exist  —  that  brain  which  would  never  cease 
its  tireless,  brilliant  planning  until  death  should  still 
its  mechanism. 

He  had  revised  his  plans  the  instant  Clifford  had 
entered  the  dining-room  —  had  seen  instantly  what 

363 


MARY  REGAN 

was  his  best  and  only  way.  Getting  Jack  where  he 
now  sat  had  been  simple.  "Come  on,  Jack,  —  the 
police  will  get  you  for  this,  too!"  he  had  cried.  And 
Jack,  befuddled  with  drink,  and  feeling  that  his  lot 
now  lay  with  these  friends,  had  obeyed  instantly 
and  without  question.  Into  Jack's  waiting  car  Love- 
man  had  sharply  ordered  those  essential  to  his  re 
vised  plan. 

"You  know  the  Long  Island  roads?  —  the  way  to 
Greenport?"  he  had  asked  Jack  after  they  were  in 
their  seats. 

"Sure." 

"  Then  make  Greenport  as  quick  as  you  can.  Re 
member  that  motor  yacht  Bradley  spoke  of?"  He 
spoke  with  a  cunning  tone  of  excitedly  pleasant 
anticipation.  "We're  going  to  be  a  bunch  of  pirates. 
—  going  to  capture  the  old  tub  —  and  you  and 
Nina  and  Hilton  and  I  are  going  to  have  a  nice 
little  cruise  and  wine  party  all  to  ourselves.  How's 
that?" 

"Gre'  stuff!"  had  been  Jack's  enthusiastic  com 
ment. 

The  wheel  of  his  new  speedster  in  his  hands,  there 
automatically  came  on  Jack  an  exhilarating  sense 
that  here  was  another  lark.  It  was  just  like  so  many 
other  parties  of  months  and  years  before  that  had 
started  out  hilariously  from  Broadway  for  a  meteor- 
like  rush  through  the  dark  to  distant  roadhouses  — 
just  one  more  party,  but  with  a  thrill  and  excite 
ment  that  topped  all  others. 

364 


MARY  REGAN 

Even  when  drunk  —  that  is,  short  of  insensibility 
—  Jack  was  a  good  driver.  His  hands  seemed  to 
have  a  peculiar  brain  of  their  own  —  albeit  a  reck 
less  brain.  Ten  minutes  after  leaving  Le  Bain's 
house  they  were  across  the  bridge,  and  five  minutes 
later  they  were  in  the  stretches  of  the  boulevard; 
and  Jack,  pointing  with  his  toe  to  a  lighted  dial, 
was  chuckling  to  Nina :  — 

"Nice  HT  piece  junk  —  eh,  Nina?  Doin'  her  liT 
ole  sixty  an  hour,  an'  ain't  half  tryin'." 

"But  slow  down  at  the  turns,  Jack.  Please  be 
careful!" 

'"M  always  careful.  Never  had  an  accident." 
He  laughed  mischievously.  "Coin'  to  show  you 
nice  HT  breeze  when  we  get  out  HT  farther  —  goin' 
touch  her  up  to  ninety." 

In  the  mean  while,  behind  them,  little  Loveman 
was  planning,  planning  —  and  acting.  He  drew  out 
a  thin  morocco  wallet,  from  it  took  a  stamped  en 
velope,  and  on  this  with  a  pencil  he  scrawled  an  ad 
dress  —  the  address  of  a  New  York  bank  where  he 
had  a  personal  account  which  was  so  private  that 
there  was  not  a  scrap  among  his  papers  to  indi 
cate  that  such  an  account  existed.  Into  this  envel 
ope  he  slipped  the  three  checks  Nina  had  given  him, 
sealed  it,  placed  it  between  the  two  halves  of  his 
wallet  and  replaced  the  wallet  in  his  coat.  That 
letter  he  would  drop  into  a  mail-box  in  Greenport. 

Once  on  board  the  yacht  they  would  make  for  the 
ocean  —  he  knew  the  vessel  to  be  large  and  stanch 

365 


MARY  REGAN 

enough  to  withstand  any  storm  likely  to  arise  in 
summer  seas  —  and  he  knew  the  government  patrol 
boats  guarding  the  coast  were  not  interfering  with 
the  course  of  American  pleasure  craft.  For  two 
days  —  longer  if  it  suited  the  exigencies  of  his  plan 
as  it  worked  out,  and  perhaps  to  the  end  of  the 
cruise  —  he  would  keep  Jack  at  sea;  then  he  would 
get  rid  of  him  at  some  convenient  port.  In  the  mean 
time  Jack's  checks  would  have  gone  through  Jack's 
bank.  No  one  suspected  the  truth  about  those 
checks  —  so  he  believed  —  and  it  would  be  a  long 
time  before  the  truth  came  out  in  the  routine  of 
business.  Before  that  he  would  have  managed  to 
draw  the  funds  out  of  this  secret  account  —  just 
how  he  did  not  yet  see  —  but  somehow  he  would 
manage  it.  And  all  the  while  they  would  be  cruising 
southward  along  the  coast,  slipping  into  port  when 
necessary  to  take  on  oil.  And  finally  they  would 
make  Mexico,  where  Hilton  would  find  sanctuary 
—  and  there  or  in  some  other  Latin-American  State 
he  would  start  his  career  anew  —  his  and  Nina's. 
And  evading  extradition  —  for  what  charge  could 
be  formed  against  him  with  sufficient  evidence  to 
cause  a  foreign  State  to  give  it  serious  heed  ?  —  they 
would  become  great  people,  people  of  brillant  posi 
tion,  he  and  Nina. 

For  all  the  time  that  he  had  seemingly  been 
amused  at  her  limitations  and  pretensions,  and  all 
the  time  that  he  had  been  quite  willing  to  fit  her  into 
his  dubious  transactions,  all  this  while  Loveman 

366 


MARY  REGAN 

had  had  one  ruling  thought  concerning  Nina  —  that 
in  the  end  she  should  be  his.  There  had  been  many 
women  in  Peter  Loveman's  life,  but  Nina  Cordova, 
all  of  whose  flaws  he  knew  and  at  whom  he  was  ever 
laughing,  Nina  was  the  only  woman  he  had  ever 
loved. 

Thus,  as  the  car  spun  noiselessly  through  the 
heavy  night,  the  shrewd,  tireless  brain  schemed  on 
and  on  —  as  that  brain  would  scheme  on  and  on, 
brilliantly,  fascinated  by  its  schemes  and  their  work 
ing  out,  until  death  should  bring  its  blankness.  .  .  . 

In  the  meanwhile,  some  miles  back,  another  car 
was  spinning  toward  the  east  and  toward  the  dawn. 
But  before  that  car  had  been  launched  on  its  flight 
several  things  had  happened  back  on  Manhattan. 

When  Clifford  came  out  of  Le  Bain's  house, 
thrusting  the  scruff-held  Slim  Harrison  before  him, 
and  saw  as  he  had  expected  that  the  red  car  belong 
ing  to  Jack  was  gone,  an  officer  in  uniform  halted 
before  the  high  stoop.  He  was  holding  a  woman  by 
the  arm,  and  the  woman  Clifford  saw  to  be  Nan 
Burdette. 

"I  saw  her  sneakin'  out  the  basement  door  a  few 
minutes  ago,"  explained  the  officer,  "and  as  she's  a 
well-known  character,  and  as  she  was  actin'  suspi 
cious,  I  thought  I  'd  better  see  what  she  'd  been  up  to." 

"So  they  dropped  you,  Nan,"  said  Clifford.  "I 
understand  —  you  were  n't  of  use  to  them  any 
longer.  But  what  did  you  hang  behind  for?" 

367 


MARY  REGAN 

"None  of  your  business,"  said  the  woman. 

"I  guess  I  understand  —  if  they  were  pinched 
you  did  n't  want  to  get  pinched  with  them,  so  you 
waited  to  make  your  getaway."  Then,  very  sharply: 
"But  what  did  they  do  with  Mary  Regan?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered  sullenly. 

"Hold  her,  officer,"  Clifford  ordered.  "Lieuten 
ant  Kelly  may  have  a  definite  charge  against  her  in 
the  morning." 

Just  then  Jimmie  Kelly  and  Uncle  George  emerged 
from  a  shadowy  doorway  beneath  the  stoop.  There 
was  some  one  between  them,  and  at  sight  of  this 
person  Clifford  stepped  quickly  toward  the  two. 

"Mary!"  he  ejaculated.  "Mary  —  where  were 
you?" 

"Mr.  Loveman  pushed  me  into  the  pantry  and 
locked  the  door." 

"  I  see,"  said  Clifford  rapidly.  "Their  plan  against 
you  would  now  not  help  them  —  you  were  now  just 
excess  baggage  to  them  —  and  they  merely  wanted 
to  get  you  out  of  the  way  for  a  while." 

There  was  no  time  then  for  fuller  explanations. 
"We're  just  starting  after  Loveman  and  Jack." 

Mr.  Morton  had  moved  toward  them.  "Mary," 
he  said,  his  voice  steady  only  through  great  effort, 
"I'd  like  to  have  you  go  along  to  help  bring  Jack 
back  —  if  Mr.  Clifford  does  n't  mind." 

She  hesitated,  then  glanced  questioningly  at 
Clifford.  Clifford  nodded. 

"All  right,"  she  agreed. 
368 


MARY  REGAN 

"Here's  where  I  resign,"  said  Uncle  George  — 
"on  the  grounds  that  I  'm  too  old,  that  I  'm  too 
fat,  that  I  'm  not  needed,  and  that  there  's  no  room 
for  me.  The  best  of  luck  to  you!  " 

"  Thanks,  Uncle  George!  "  And  Clifford  gripped 
his  hand. 

They  hurried  into  the  long,  low,  gray  car  —  the 
car  which  was  to  have  borne  Mary  upon  that  cun 
ningly  devised  saturnalia.  "Jimmie,  if  you  don't 
mind,  sit  in  front  with  Slim  Harrison,"  said  Clifford, 
and  himself  took  the  rear  seat  with  Mr.  Morton, 
Mary  between  them.  He  leaned  forward  and  spoke 
with  harsh  dominance  into Slim's  ear.  "Slim,  I  know 
this  is  a  great  machine,  and  I  know  that  when  you 
want  to  be  you  're  a  great  driver  —  and  understand 
this,  your  only  chance  of  getting  out  of  this  affair 
halfway  easy  is  for  you  to  get  us  to  Greenport  not 
later  than  the  car  ahead.  Now,  turn  her  loose." 

Slim  turned  her  loose.  Once  he  was  well  across 
the  Fifty-ninth  Street  Bridge,  he  lived  up  to  all  that 
the  sporting  pages  had  ever  said  in  praise  of  his 
ability.  The  new  car,  clinging  tight  to  the  glass- 
smooth  oiled  macadam,  flashed  in  a  breath  through 
villages  —  past  dimly  seen  summer  "cottages"  of 
New  York  millionaires,  grand  ducal  in  their  leisured 
magnificence  —  and  on  over  the  motor  parkway 
through  the  humid,  deserted  night. 

In  the  rear  seat  there  was  silence,  except  for  the 
gale  begotten  by  the  machine's  great  speed.  Now 
and  then,  by  the  swift-passing  lights  of  a  village, 

369 


MARY  REGAN 

Clifford  saw  the  face  of  Mary  Regan:  it  was  pale 
and  set,  seemed  without  expression,  and  was  fixed 
unchangingly  ahead,  not  so  much  upon  the  bril 
liantly  illumined  road  before  them  as  upon  the 
spaces  of  the  night.  He  wondered  what  she  was 
thinking  of  —  she  who  had  experienced  so  much 
these  last  few  months,  so  many  things  that  her  cal 
culations  had  not  foreseen.  But  the  swiftly  gone 
glimpses  of  her  white  face  gave  him  no  clue.  .  .  . 

And  now  and  again  Clifford  saw  the  face  of  Mr. 
Morton  beside  her.  Also  the  face  of  this  masterful 
man  of  business,  who  ruled  his  thousands  of  men 
and  dominated  a  score  of  companies,  and  yet  had 
failed  to  direct  his  own  son  in  the  way  he  would  have 
him  go  —  also  Mr.  Morton's  face  was  drawn  and 
pale,  but  it  was  fixed  with  straining  impatience  upon 
the  roadway.  Now  and  then  Clifford  saw  him  turn 
and  gaze  at  Mary,  whose  forward-fixed  look  never 
shifted,  and  then  turn  back  to  the  road,  wetting  his 
drawn,  thinned  lips.  .  .  . 

All  the  while  Clifford's  own  mind  was  working. 
The  professional  part  of  Clifford  felt  the  exultation 
of  triumph  already  won  —  and  the  exultant  excite 
ment  of  the  chase,  which,  if  successful,  would  make 
triumph  complete.  He  had  already  got  Bradley ;  he 
felt  certain  that  he  soon  was  to  get  Loveman  and  the 
others.  That  much  done,  the  dominating  profes 
sional  purpose  would  have  been  achieved.  He  would 
have  won.  .  .  .  But  there  was  the  man  element  in 
Clifford,  and  it  also  was  thinking  as  the  car  flew 


MARY  REGAN 

through  the  night.  His  success  meant  that  Love- 
man,  and  Bradley,  and  Nina,  and  the  others,  who 
had  subtly  worked  to  undermine  whatever  of  good 
there  was  in  Jack,  would  be  removed  as  factors 
in  Jack's  life  —  and  free  of  their  influence  and 
unopposedly  under  the  influence  of  Mary,  he  and 
Mary  might  —  Well,  that  was  the  way  Life  worked 
out.  For  long  he  had  expected  for  himself  nothing 
more.  .  .  . 

On,  on  they  sped,  always  silent,  through  the 
August  night  —  the  car  relaxing  its  speed  only  when 
there  were  sharp  curves,  and  then  at  once  picking 
up  its  flashing  pace.  An  hour  slipped  by  —  another 
hour.  They  were  now  come  upon  the  upper  of  the 
two  fingers  into  which  the  eastern  third  of  Long 
Island  separates  —  and  the  blackness  of  the  night 
had  changed  into  a  thick,  sluggish  dawn,  that  murky 
dawn  held  back  and  muffled  by  the  heavy  fogs  which 
lie  upon  the  outer  portions  of  the  island  on  humid 
days  of  late  summer  and  keep  the  horns  and  sirens 
of  the  shore  at  their  discordant  singing  until  noon. 

Presently  Clifford  half  rose  in  the  machine  and 
pointed  forward.  "There  they  are!"  he  exclaimed. 

Before  them  in  the  murk  was  a  swiftly  moving 
something,  now  visible,  now  vanished  in  a  thicker 
portion  of  the  fog.  The  others  saw,  but  said  nothing. 

Clifford  leaned  forward  and  spoke  into  Slim's  ear. 
"Just  keep  about  this  distance  from  them  —  they'll 
have  to  stop  in  Greenport  and  we  can  get  them 
before  they  can  go  aboard." 

371 


MARY  REGAN 

Slim  nodded.  Keeping  this  quarter  of  a  mile 
behind,  they  rushed  on  into  the  fog  —  flashed 
through  Southold  —  over  miles  of  marsh-bordered 
road  —  skirted  for  a  space  the  single  track  of  the 
Long  Island  Railway  —  skimmed  more  miles  of 
marsh- bordered  roadbed  —  swung  about  a  curve  — 
and  then  — 

They  clutched  each  other,  their  horrified  eyes 
staring  ahead.  "My  God!"  gasped  Clifford;  and 
Mary  gave  a  sharp  cry  —  and  a  wrenching  groan 
came  from  Mr.  Morton.  Instantly  and  instinctively 
Slim  had  shut  off  the  gas  and  applied  the  brake  — 
and  slowly  they  rolled  onward,  staring  wildly. 

That  thing  which  they  had  seen,  happening  all  in 
an  instant,  was  a  commonplace  of  newspaper  head 
lines.  Long  Island  is  a  choice  speeding-ground  for 
that  tribe  known  as  "joy-riders."  "Look  out  for 
Crossings"  reads  a  placard  in  every  passenger-coach 
of  the  Long  Island  Railroad  —  and  the  same  placard 
bears  a  picture  of  what  may  befall  those  who  do  not. 
Jack,  who  had  taken  ten  thousand  risks  and  never 
had  an  accident,  had  risked  his  fortune  just  once 
too  often.  Driving  at  reckless  speed,  his  ears  filled 
with  the  roar  of  the  wind,  he  had  only  his  eyes  - 
and  too  late  had  his  eyes  seen  that  freight  engine 
thrust  itself  out  of  the  fog.  .  .  . 

Clifford  helped  Mary  out  of  their  halted  car,  and 
silently  they  all  began  the  work  of  examination  - 
soon  helped  by  the  crew  of  the  train.  Jack's  new  red 
car  was  a  tangle  of  twisted  steel.  .  .  .  First  they 

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MARY  REGAN 

found  Nina  and  Hilton;  both  were  conscious  and 
crying  out  in  their  pain  —  each  shrieked  when 
touched.  And  then  they  found  Peter  Loveman:  he 
was  alive,  but  unconscious.  Not  far  from  him  Mr. 
Morton  picked  up  a  morocco  wallet,  which  he  slipped 
into  his  pocket,  Clifford  not  seeing  this.  And  then 
Clifford  and  Mary  found  Jack:  he  also  was  alive 
and  also  unconscious.  Strangely  enough,  his  clothes 
were  but  little  disordered,  and  there  was  not  a  visi 
ble  scratch  upon  him.  Lying  with  his  pallid  face 
toward  the  sky,  the  hair  falling  back  from  his  fore 
head,  he  looked  handsome  and  boyish  and  irresisti 
bly  likable  and  endowed  with  qualities  which  go  to 
make  an  unusual  man.  Never  to  Clifford  had  that 
face  looked  so  promising  as  it  now  looked. 

There  is  a  good  little  hospital  in  Greenport,  and 
in  half  an  hour  the  four  were  in  it  —  and  in  less  than 
another  half-hour  two  famous  New  York  specialists 
were  in  attendance,  for  many  New  York  doctors 
have  summer  homes  near  Greenport,  and  are  pro 
fessionally  connected  with  this  little  hospital.  The 
first  report  of  these  two  men,  based  on  a  hasty 
examination,  was  that  Nina  and  Hilton  had  many 
broken  bones,  but  would  undoubtedly  in  time  be  as 
sound  as  ever;  as  to  Jack  and  Loveman,  a  more 
careful  examination  was  necessary  before  they  could 
really  tell  anything. 

There  was  nothing  Clifford  could  do  but  merely 
wait.  Through  an  open  doorway  —  all  the  patients 
were  on  the  same  floor  —  he  saw  Mary  Regan  sit- 

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MARY  REGAN 

ting  at  a  window.  He  entered.  She  gave  him  a  look 
from  her  pale  face,  and  without  saying  anything 
looked  back  out  the  window.  He  drew  a  chair  up 
beside  her,  and  they  both  sat  gazing  out  —  at  the 
flag  with  a  white  field  and  a  cross  of  blue  which 
told  that  this  little  hospital  had  become  an  auxiliary 
hospital  of  the  United  States  Navy  —  and  beyond 
at  the  harbor,  with  its  scores  of  small  white  craft, 
one  of  which  was  doubtless  the  yacht  of  Love- 
man's  visioned  voyage  —  the  voyage  that  now  would 
never  be. 

Neither  spoke;  there  were  no  interruptions  —  Mr. 
Morton  was  at  Jack's  bedside,  and  had  not  left  it. 
Clifford  felt  numb:  part  of  this  was  physical  weari 
ness,  part  the  shock  of  what  had  so  swiftly  hap 
pened,  and  part  the  sense  of  large  issues  (he  was  not 
then  conscious  of  what  they  all  were)  that  remained 
still  in  the  balance.  An  hour  of  this  heavy  silence 
passed  —  two  hours;  Mary,  with  white,  set  face,  con 
tinued  to  gaze  out  upon  the  harbor  of  tiny  ships. 

At  length  Clifford  rose  mechanically  and  went 
out  into  the  corridor,  and  paced  to  and  fro.  Pres 
ently  he  saw  a  nurse  come  from  Jack's  room  and 
enter  Loveman's,  and  after  a  moment  he  saw  the 
doctor  who  was  with  Loveman  —  Dr.  Peters, 
Clifford  knew  him  to  be,  a  great  nerve  specialist,  — 
emerge  followed  by  the  two  nurses  and  enter  Jack's 
room.  He  noted  that  Loveman's  door  had  been  left 
open;  and  first,  without  purpose,  merely  as  a  break 
in  the  routine  of  his  walking,  he  paused  and  looked 

374 


MARY  REGAN 

in.  Then  he  entered  and  crossed  to  Loveman's 
bed. 

To  his  surprise  Loveman's  large  bright  eyes  were 
wide  open ;  they  recognized  him  —  and  Clifford  saw 
that  they  were  alive  with  all  of  Loveman's  intelli 
gence.  He  gazed  down  at  the  sheet-covered  figure, 
and  something  of  the  fury  revived  which  had  lain 
dumb  in  him  these  last  two  or  three  hours. 

"Well,  Loveman,  I've  landed  you  at  last!"  he 
said  grimly. 

The  little  lawyer  made  no  response. 

"Make  no  mistake  about  it,  Loveman,  —  I've 
got  you  for  fair  this  time  —  and  got  you  eleven 
different  ways  from  Sunday!" 

Still  the  little  man  did  not  speak,  though  his  eyes 
showed  that  he  understood  every  word.  Clifford 
was  provoked  at  the  manner  in  which  Loveman 
ignored  him. 

"Have  n't  you  any  come-back  at  all,  Loveman  — 
you  were  usually  quick  enough  with  your  tongue." 

' '  See  here — what  are  you  doing  with  my  patient  ? ' ' 
a  sharp  voice  called  from  the  door. 

Clifford  turned.   Approaching  was  Dr.  Peters. 

"He  may  be  your  patient,  but  he  is  my  prisoner," 
Clifford  returned  stiffly,  still  under  the  influence  of 
his  revived  fury.  But  at  once  he  was  himself  again. 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  Dr.  Peters,  but  this  man  here 
is  responsible  for  all  that  has  happened."  And 
then:  "He  seems  to  have  very  much  of  a  grouch 
against  me — rather  natural,  I  suppose.  He  would  n't 

375 


MARY  REGAN 

even  say  a  word  to  me.  What 's  the  matter  with 
him?" 

"What's  the  matter?"  Dr.  Peters  repeated,  look 
ing  at  him  keenly.  Then  he  drew  Clifford  aside,  out 
of  Loveman's  hearing.  "All  that's  the  matter  with 
Mr.  Loveman,"  he  answered  slowly,  "is  that  the 
accident  caused  a  hemorrhage  affecting  the  sensory 
and  motor  portions  of  the  brain  causing  a  perma 
nent  aphasia." 

"What's  that  mean,  doctor,  in  plain  English?" 

"It  means  that  he  has  permanently  lost  the  use 
of  legs  and  arms,  and  that  he'll  never  speak  again." 

Clifford  stared.  "But  he  seems  to  understand!" 
he  cried. 

"  He  understands  everything.  His  brain  is  as  good 
as  it  ever  was,  and  it  will  be  as  good  as  ever  for  per 
haps  thirty  years  to  come.  But  by  no  possibility 
can  he  ever  communicate  to  a  second  person  what 
that  brain  is  thinking  of." 

Clifford  stared  at  the  doctor,  mumbled  something, 
and  unsteadily  walked  out.  In  the  corridor  he  leaned 
against  a  wall  and  drew  a  deep  breath.  As  the  full 
significance  of  the  doctor's  words  sank  in,  he  was 
awed,  appalled.  That  great  clear  brain  fated  by  the 
momentum  of  a  life's  habit  to  go  on  planning  — 
never  to  be  able  to  put  any  of  those  plans  into  action 
himself  —  never  able  to  communicate  a  plan  to  an 
agent  or  accomplice  —  but  always  planning  —  tire 
lessly  planning  —  for  thirty  years  or  more!  .  .  . 

After  a  time  he  straightened  up  and  entered  the 
376 


MARY  REGAN 

room  of  Hilton,  who  was  in  less  pain,  but  who  just 
then  hated  all  mankind;  and  with  Hilton  he  had  a 
few  grim,  direct  words.  After  that  he  had  a  few 
words  with  Jimmie  Kelly,  who  was  waiting  below. 
Then  he  went  back  and  sat  down  beside  Mary,  and 
briefly  he  told  her  what  had  befallen  Loveman. 

Again  they  sat  in  silence,  gazing  out  upon  the 
harbor.  Perhaps  another  hour  passed.  Then  Mr. 
Morton  entered.  He  was  haggard  and  gray  of  face. 
Clifford  and  Mary  rose. 

"Jack?"  breathed  Mary,  moving  toward  him. 

Mr.  Morton  seemed  at  first  unable  to  speak.  But 
when  his  voice  did  issue,  though  husky  and  low,  it 
was  controlled  and  strangely  emotionless. 

"Jack  never  regained  consciousness,"  he  said, 
"Jack  —  Jack  has  just  died." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE   STUFF  IN  MARY   REGAN 

THERE  was  again  a  long  silence.  Clifford's  heart 
leaped  strangely  at  Morton's  announcement,  as  per 
haps  hearts  should  not  at  words  of  death.  Then 
Mr.  Morton  spoke  once  more,  still  in  the  low,  con 
trolled  voice,  his  words  and  steady  eyes  directed  at 
Mary. 

"I  shall  arrange  to  take  Jack  to  Chicago.  Since 
you  are  his  widow,  of  course  you  will  come  along." 
And  then  the  emotionless  voice  of  this  hard-driving 
man  of  great  affairs  broke  with  emotion.  "And, 
Mary,  —  I  want  you  to  come  because  you  are  my 
daughter-in-law.  I  know  now  you  did  all  a  woman 
could  for  Jack;  I  have  come  to  respect  you  for  what 
you  are.  You  are  all  I  have  —  I  need  you,  Mary. 
I  hardly  need  tell  you,  —  since  it  may  make  little 
difference  to  you,  you  are  so  strange,  —  but  all  I 
have  will  go  to  you,  and  your  life  is  to  be  the  life  of 
my  daughter." 

Mary  stood  staring  at  him,  loose-lipped,  and  did 
not  speak.  Clifford  watched  her,  dazed  by  this  last 
turn  of  circumstances.  He  saw  the  realities  and 
prospects  that  Morton's  words  had  given  her.  She 
now  possessed,  open  and  aboveboard,  all  that  she 
had  ever  dreamed  to  gain  by  trickery  —  yes,  and 

378 


MARY  REGAN 

more!  And  she  had  it  all  unhampered!  All  these 
months  he  had  tried  to  make  Life  test  her  —  and 
Life  had  responded  by,  in  the  end,  giving  her  every 
thing! 

Still  Mary  did  not  speak.  Mr.  Morton  went  on,  a 
note  of  urging,  of  reassurance,  in  his  subdued  voice: 

"And,  Mary,  —  whatever  I  may  have  said  in  the 
past,  —  you  have  nothing  to  fear  from  me.  You  are 
my  daughter,  and  you  have  my  respect.  And  you 
have  nothing  to  fear  from  any  one  else,  since  I  know 
everything.  .  .  .  There's  an  afternoon  train  out  of 
here;  we'll  be  taking  that,  Mary." 

And  then  Mary  spoke.  Her  voice  was  low,  but 
its  tone  was  steady. 

"  I  shall  be  willing  —  and  glad  —  to  do  all  I  can 
to  help.  But  I  cannot  go  with  you  as  your  daughter." 

"What?"  cried  Mr.  Morton.  And  then:  "I  don't 
understand." 

The  low  voice  went  on :  — 

"I  married  Jack  solely  to  make  money  and  gain 
position.  Even  before  last  night  I  had  decided  never 
to  take  them.  And  now,  after  what  has  happened, 
even  more  can  I  never  take  them.  Believe  me,  I 
mean  no  offense  to  you,  but  I  cannot  be  your 
daughter-in-law." 

"What?"  repeated  Mr.  Morton. 

Clifford  gazed  at  her,  stupefied. 

"While  Jack  lived  my  marriage  to  him  was  a 
secret,"  the  low  voice  went  on.  "Now  that  he  is 
dead,  I  prefer  to  have  it  continue  to  remain  un- 

379 


MARY  REGAN 

known,  if  that  can  be  managed.  I  think  it  can.  If 
the  few  who  know  are  made  to  believe  that  I  am 
trying  to  force  myself  upon  you,  they  will  keep  silent 
out  of  pure  malice  toward  me.  That  is,  I  want  it  to 
remain  unknown,  unless  Mr.  Clifford  needs  my  tes 
timony  to  convict  in  his  cases." 

"I  don't  think  that  will  be  necessary,"  said  Clif 
ford.  "Loveman's  case  is  closed.  As  for  Bradley, 
Lieutenant  Kelly  found  that  Mordona  necklace  on 
him,  and  Hilton,  seeing  that  the  game  is  over,  has 
just  turned  State's  evidence  and  confessed  that  he 
and  Bradley  stole  it.  That  should  be  sufficient  to 
take  care  of  Bradley." 

Mary  turned  again  to  Mr.  Morton.  "Then  I  pre 
fer  to  have  it  all  remain  as  it  has  been  —  unknown. 
I  do  not  want  even  the  profit  out  of  this  of  having 
Jack's  name." 

Then  came  a  quick  set  to  the  jaw  of  this  man  long 
accustomed  to  having  his  own  way.  "But  I  can 
publicly  proclaim  you  to  be  my  daughter!" 

"But  you  will  not,"  she  returned  quietly,  "since 
I  ask  you  not  to." 

.  The  set  look  continued  for  a  moment.  Then  it 
relaxed. 

"All  right  —  just  as  you  say."  He  drew  an  en 
velope  from  an  inner  pocket.  "But  if  you  will  not 
accept  my  fortune,  you  cannot  escape  Jack's,  for  it 
is  this  moment  automatically  and  legally  yours." 
From  the  envelope  —  it  was  the  one  Loveman  had 
addressed  in  the  car  —  he  drew  out  three  slips  of 

380 


MARY  REGAN 

paper  and  handed  them  to  her.  "There  it  is — 
three  checks  totaling  one  hundred  and  eighty  thou 
sand  dollars.  And  you  do  not  need  to  reveal  yourself 
as  Jack's  widow  to  get  the  money,  since  the  checks 
are  made  out  to  'Cash.'  All  you  need  to  do  is  to 
deposit  them." 

She  gazed  at  the  checks,  then  looked  up  at  him. 
"If  Jack  had  had  no  wife,  I  suppose  his  fortune 
would  revert  to  you." 

"Naturally." 

"You  understand,  I  can  make  nothing  out  of  this 
—  nothing."  Slowly  she  tore  up  the  checks.  "  I  can 
be  of  no  service  to  you?  —  or  Jack?" 

"None.    Except  in  ways  you  have  refused." 

She  turned  to  Clifford.    "Am  I  needed  here?" 

Clifford  shoofc  his  head. 

"Then  I  think  I'll  be  going  back  to  town,"  she 
said  quietly. 

Morton  held  out  his  hand,  which  she  took.  "You 
are  the  strangest  person  I  ever  knew,"  he  said 
huskily.  "Good-bye,  Mary,  —  and  —  and  God  bless 
you!" 

"Good-bye,"  said  his  daughter-in-law. 

She  turned  and  went  out.  Clifford  watched  her 
as  she  passed  through  the  broad  hospital  corridor 
and  then  disappeared  down  the  wide  stairway. 

"Mr.  Morton,"  said  Clifford,  "I'm  not  needed 
either  —  Lieutenant  Kelly  will  remain  in  charge 
here.  I  '11  be  going  back  to  the  city,  too." 

Mr.  Morton  gripped  Clifford's  hand.    "Thanks, 


MARY  REGAN 

Clifford  —  and  good-bye."  The  habitually  hard  face 
softened  yet  further,  and  his  voice  lowered.  "And, 
Clifford,  —  you're  a  lucky  man,  if  it  turns  out  the 
way  I  think  it  will!" 

It  did.  In  the  deepening  dusk  of  a  month  later, 
from  an  interior  and  out-of-the-way  county  seat 
whose  records  were  rarely  looked  over  by  inquisitive 
eyes  that  had  an  interest  in  transmitting  what  they 
saw  to  New  York  City,  Clifford  was  driving  a  small 
roadster  at  an  easy  pace,  one  passenger  beside  him. 
A  few  minutes  before  that  passenger  had  undergone 
a  change  of  name.  In  New  York  City,  if  all  went 
as  expected,  it  would  merely  be  known  that  she 
had  changed  her  name  from  Mary  Regan  to  Mary 
Clifford. 

The  marriage  had  been  the  ultimate  achievement 
in  privacy.  No  one  had  journeyed  here  with  them. 
But  one  person,  who  had  insisted  on  being  taken 
into  their  confidence,  had  appeared  discreetly  and 
anonymously  at  the  brief  ceremony  in  the  little 
court-house  —  Uncle  George.  And  after  the  cere 
mony  was  over,  he  had  kissed  Mary  with  a  sim 
plicity,  a  sincerity,  a  tender  dignity  that  sophisti 
cated,  cynical  Broadway  would  have  been  amazed 
to  see  in  its  favorite. 

"Mary,"  —  his  hands  on  both  her  shoulders,  his 
voice  quavering  a  bit, —  "I'm  glad  I've  lived  long 
enough  to  see  the  daughter  of  one  old  pal,  and  the 
niece  of  another  old  pal,  definitely  turn  into  this 

382 


MARY  REGAN 

road.  Yes,  I'm  mighty  glad.  It's  the  only  road 
that 's  worth  traveling  —  and  I  guess  I  ought  to 
know.  I  know  you  're  going  to  be  happy.  God  bless 
you,  my  dear!"  .  .  . 

And  now,  as  the  pair  moved  easily  through  the 
closing  twilight,  all  bars  at  last  were  down  between 
these  two  —  all  barriers  of  pride,  of  reserve,  of  re 
ticence,  of  opposing  wills,  all  the  long  masking  of 
hearts.  Their  souls  were  very  close  together. 

They  had  been  riding  for  several  miles  in  silence, 
both  still  awed  by  what  had  just  taken  place  in 
the  little  town  behind  them  —  when  Mary  spoke 
softly :  — 

"You  promised  to  tell  me  when  —  when  this  was 
over,  what  you  and  Commissioner  Thorne  were 
talking  about  this  morning.  Are  n't  you  going  to 
tell  me  what  it  was?" 

"Commissioner  Thorne  again  offered  me  the  posi 
tion  of  Chief  of  the  Detective  Bureau." 

"And  you?" 

"I  turned  it  down." 

"It  was  a  wonderful  chance!"  she  exclaimed. 
"You  refused  because  of  me?" 

"No.  But  I  thought  you  might  think  so;  that's 
why  I  did  n't  want  to  tell  you  until  everything  was 
settled  between  you  and  me.  I  had  thought  it  all 
out  before.  It  was  a  big  job  he  offered  me,  yes,  — 
but  primarily  it  was  an  office  job,  a  routine,  admin 
istrative  job.  I  wanted  to  be  out  where  I  would  be 
in  contact  with  people  and  their  problems;  where 

383 


MARY  REGAN 

instead  of  touching  life  only  through  the  reports  of 
subordinates,  I  would  touch  life  at  first  hand.  I 
felt  that  in  my  case  I  could  be  of  more  service  in 
such  a  way.  You  understand?" 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "And  I  think,  perhaps,  —  if 
you'd  let  me,  —  I  could  help  at  that  kind  of  work." 

"I  know  you  could!"  said  Clifford.  He  went  on, 
after  a  brief  pause:  "And  we  talked  of  something 
else,  Mary,  —  the  Chief  and  I.  He  told  me  again 
of  that  talk  he  had  had  with  you  when  you  went 
to  him  almost  a  year  ago;  and,  Mary,"  -  his  voice 
lowered,  -  "our  talk  became  for  me  a  searchlight 
thrown  backward  upon  all  that  has  happened  these 
last  few  months,  and  especially  a  searchlight  upon 
you,  Mary.  You  may  have  had  many  motives  for 
deciding  against  me,  and  for  doing  what  you  did. 
But  I  now  know  there  was  one  big  motive  which 
I  never  before  fully  realized,  and  of  which  you 
perhaps  were  never  conscious." 

"And  that?"  she  asked. 

"You  did  what  you  did  partly  because  you  loved 
me,  and  because  you  have  loved  me  all  along.  You 
believed  that  for  you  to  marry  me  would  injure  what 
you  saw  as  a  big  public  career  for  me;  you  thought 
you  were  not  the  right  wife  for  me.  As  for  Jack, 
you  did  n't  really  care  for  him  —  and  in  the  begin 
ning  you  were  n't  concerned  in  what  your  action 
might  mean  to  him.  But  me  —  me  you  did  n't 
want  to  hurt  in  any  way."  He  repeated  himself: 
"I  see  that  clearly  now — even  though  you  did  not 

384 


MARY  REGAN 

know  it,  that  was  one  of  the  motives  that  ruled 
you." 

"  I  would  not  dare  say  that  in  my  own  behalf,"  she 
whispered.  And  then  she  went  on:  "But  if,  after 
all,  I  have  turned  out  what  you  thought  me,  it  is 
because  you  believed  in  me  so  long  —  and  because 
your  belief  in  me,  and  the  way  you  handled  me, 
forced  me  to  become  something  different.  .  .  .  But  it 
must  have  been  hard  for  you  —  very,  very  hard!" 

"It's  been  a  thousand  times  worth  it  all,  Mary," 
he  breathed,  "a  thousand  times  worth  it  all!" 

He  caught  her  hand  and  held  it  tight  beneath  his 
on  the  steering-wheel  —  it  was  as  though  now  they 
were  jointly  steering  their  united  lives;  and  they 
sped  on  through  the  soft,  star-blossoming  night,  in 
the  silence  of  full  understanding,  southward  toward 
the  great  city  where  so  long  they  had  fought  each 
other,  and  where  now  at  the  last  they  were  to  be 
gin  to  build  a  life  together. 


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Abner  Daniel.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Adventures  of  Gerard.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Adventures  of  a  Modest  Man.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Adventures  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Adventures  of  Jimtnie  Dale,  The.    By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

After  House,  The.     By  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Alisa  Paige.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Alton  of  Somasco.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

A  Man's  Man.     By  Ian  Hay. 

Amateur  Gentleman,  The.     By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

Andrew  The  Glad.    By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess. 

Ann  Boyd.  By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Anna  the  Adventuress.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Another  Man's  Shoes.     By  Victor  Bridges. 

Ariadne  of  Allan  Water.     By  Sidney  McCall. 

Armchair  at  the  Inn,  The.    By  F.  Hopkinson  Smith. 

Around   Old   Chester.      By   Margaret   Deland. 

Athalie.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

At  the  Mercy  of  Tiberius.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Auction  Block,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Aunt  Jane.     By  Jeanette  Lee. 

Aunt  Jane  of  Kentucky.    By  Eliza  C.  Hall. 

Awakening  of  Helena  Richie.    By  Margaret  Deland. 

Bambi.    By  Marjorie  Benton  Cooke. 

Bandbox,  The.     By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Barbara  of  the  Snows.     By  Harry    Irving  Green. 

Bar  20.     By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Bar  20  Days.    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Barrier,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Beasts  of  Tarzan,  The.    By  Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 

Beechy.    By  Bettina  Von  Hutten. 

Bella  Donna.    By  Robert  Hichens. 

Beloved  Vagabond,  The.    By  Wm.  J.  Locke. 

Beltane  the  Smith.    By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

Ben  Blair.    By  Will  Lillibridge. 

Betrayal,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Better  Man,  The.    By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 

Beulah.    (111.  Ed.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Beyond  the  Frontier.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Black  Is  White.   By  George  Barr  McCutcheon, 


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Blind  Man's  Eyes,  The.    By  Wm.  MacHarg  &  Edwin  Balmei. 

Bob  Hampton  of  Placer.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Bob,  Son  of  Battle.     By  Alfred  Ollivant. 

Britton  of  the  Seventh.     By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 

Broad  Highway,  The.     By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

Bronze  Bell,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Bronze  Eagle,  The.     By  Baroness  Orczy. 

Buck  Peters,  Ranchman.     By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Business  of  Life,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

By  Right  of  Purchase.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Cabbages  and  Kings.     By  O.  Henry. 

Calling  of  Dan  Matthews,  The.     By  Harold  Bell  Wright 
Cape  Cod  Stories.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Cap'n  Dan's  Daughter.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Cap'n,  Eri.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Cap'n  Warren's  Wards.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Cardigan.      By   Robert   W.   Chambers. 
Carpet  From  Bagdad,  The.    By  Harold  MacGrath. 
Cease  Firing.     By  Mary  Johnson. 
Chain  of  Evidence,  A.     By  Carolyn  Wells. 
Chief  Legatee,  The.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Cleek  of  Scotland  Yard.     By  T.  W.  Hanshew. 
Clipped  Wings.     By  Rupert  Hughes. 
Coast  of  Adventure,  The.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Colonial  Free  Lance,  A.     By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss. 
Coming  of  Cassidy,  The    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Corning  of  the  Law,  The.    By  Chas.  A.  Seltzer. 
Conquest  of  Canaan,  The.    By  Booth  Tarkington. 
Conspirators,  The.     By  Robt.  W.  Chambers. 
Counsel  for  the  Defense.    By  Leroy  Scott. 
Court  of  Inquiry,  A.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond- 
Crime  Doctor,  The.    By  E.  W.  Hornung 
Crimson  Gardenia,  The,  and  Other  Tales  of  Adventure.    Isj- 

Rex  Beach. 

Cross  Currents.    By  Eleanor  H.  Porter. 
Cry  in  the  Wilderness,  A.     By  Mary  E.  Waller. 
Cynthia  of  the  Minute.    By  Louis  Jos.  Vance. 

Dark  Hollow,  The.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green, 
Dave's  Daughter.    By  Patience  Bevier  Cole. 


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Day  of  Days,  The.     By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Day  of  the  Dog,  The.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 
Depot  Master,  The.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Desired  Woman,  The.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 
Destroying  Angel,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Dixie  Hart.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 
Double  Traitor,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Drusilla  With  a  Million.    By  Elizabeth  Cooper. 

Eagle  of  the  Empire,  The.    By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady 

El  Dorado.     By  Baroness  Orczy. 

Elusive  Isabel.    By  Jacques  Futrelle. 

Empty  Pockets.    By  Rupert  Hughes. 

Enchanted  Hat,  The.    By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Eye  of  Dread,  The.    By  Payne  Erskine. 

Eyes  of  the  World,  The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Felix  O'Day.    By  F.  Hopkinson  Smith. 

50-40  or  Fight.    By  Emerson  Hough. 

Fighting  Chance,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Financier,  The.    By  Theodore  Dreiser. 

Flamsted  Quarries.     By  Mary  E.  Waller. 

Flying  Mercury,  The.    By  Eleanor  M.  Ingram. 

For  a  Maiden  Brave.    By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss. 

Four  Million,  The.    By  O.  Henry. 

Four  Pool's  Mystery,  The.    By  Jean  Webster. 

Fruitful  Vine,  The.    By  Robert  Hichens. 

Get-Rich-Quick  Wallingford.    By  George  Randolph  Chester, 

Gilbert  Neal.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Girl  From  His  Town,  The.     By  Marie  Van  Vorst. 

Girl  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  A.    By  Payne  Erskine. 

Girl  Who  Lived  in  the  Woods,  The.     By  Marjorie  Bentoa 

Cook. 

Girl  Who  Won,  The.    By  Beth  Ellis. 
Glory  of  Clementina,  The.    By  Wm.  J.  Locke. 
Glory  of  the  Conquered,  The.    By  Susan  Glaspell. 
God's  Country  and  the  Woman.   By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 
God's  Good  Man.    By  Marie  Corelli. 
Going  Some.    By  Rex  Beach. 
Gold  Bag,  The.     By  Carolyn  Wells. 


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Golden  Slipper,  The.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Golden  Web,  The.     By  Anthony  Partridge. 

Gordon  Craig.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man.     By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

Greyfriars  Bobby.     By  Eleanor  Atkinson. 

Guests  of  Hercules,  The.    By  C.  N,  &  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Halcyone.     By  Elinor  Glyn. 

Happy  Island  (Sequel  to  Uncle  William).  By  Jeannette  Leei 

Havoc.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Heart  of  Philura,  The.    By  Florence  Kingsley. 

Heart  of  the  Desert,  The.    By  Honore  Willsie. 

Heart  of  the  Hills,  The.    By  John  Fox,  Jr. 

Heart  of  the  Sunset.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Heart  of  Thunder  Mountain,  The.    By  Elfrid  A.  Binghrm. 

Heather-Moon,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson  . 

Her  Weight  in  Gold.    By  Geo.  B.  McCutcheon. 

Hidden  Children,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Hoosier  Volunteer,  The.    By  Kate  and  Virgil  D.  BoyJes. 

Hopalong  Cassidy.    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

How  Leslie  Loved.    By  Anne  Warner. 

Hugh  Wynne,  Free  Quaker.    By  S.  Weir  Mitchell,  M.D. 

Husbands  of  Edith,  The.   By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

I  Conquered.     By  Harold  Titus. 

Illustrious  Prince,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Idols.   By  William  J.  Locke. 

Indifference  of  Juliet,  The.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond* 

Inez.    (111.  Ed.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Infelice.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

In  Her  Own  Right.     By  John  Reed  Scott. 

Initials  Only.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

In  Another  Girl's  Shoes.    By  Berta  Ruck. 

Inner  Law,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Innocent.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Insidious  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  The.    By  Sax  Rohmer. 

In  the  Brooding  Wild.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Intrigues,  The.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Iron  Trail,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Iron  Woman,  The.    By  Margaret  Deland. 

IshmaeL    (111.)    By  Mrs.  Southworth. 


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Island  of  Regeneration,  The.     By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 
Island  of  Surprise,  The.    By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 

Japonette.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Jean  of  the  Lazy  A.    By  B.  M.  Bower. 

Jeanne  of  the  Marshes.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Jennie  Gerhardt.    By  Theodore  Dreiser. 

Joyful  Heatherby.    By  Payne  Erskine. 

Jude  the  Obscure.    By  Thomas  Hardy. 

Judgment  House,  The.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Keeper  of  the  Door,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Keith  of  the  Border.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Kent  Knowles:  Quahaug.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

King  Spruce.     By  Holman  Day. 

Kingdom  of  Earth,  The.    By  Anthony  Partridge. 

Knave  of  Diamonds,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Deil. 

Lady  and  the  Pirate,  The.    By  Emerson  Hough. 

Lady  Merton,  Colonist.    By  Mrs.  Humphrey  Ward. 

Landloper,  The.    By  Holman  Day. 

Land  of  Long  Ago,  The.    By  Eliza  Calvert  Hall. 

Last  Try,  The.    By  John  Reed  Scott. 

Last  Shot,  The.     By  Frederick  N.  Palmer. 

Last  Trail,  The.    By  Zane  Grey. 

Laughing  Cavalier,  The.     By  Baroness  Orczy. 

Law  Breakers,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Lighted  Way,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Lighting  Conductor  Discovers  America,  The.     By  C.  N.  & 

A.  N.  Williamson. 
Lin  McLean.    By  Owen  Wister. 

Little  Brown  Jug  at  Kildare,  The.    By  Meredith  NicholsoiR. 
Lone  Wolf,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Long  Roll,  The.    By  Mary  Johnson. 
Lonesome  Land.    By  B.  M.  Bower. 
Lord  Loveland  Discovers  America.     By  C.  N.  and  A.  M. 

Williamson. 

Lost  Ambassador.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Lost  Prince,  The.    By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett. 
Lost  Road,  The.    By  Richard  Harding  Davis. 
Love  Under  Fire.    By  Randall  Parrish. 


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Macaria.    (111.  Ed.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Maids  of  Paradise,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Maid  of  the  Forest,  The.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Maid  of  the  Whispering  Hills,  The.    By  Vingie  E.  Roe. 

Making  of  Bobby  Burnit,  The.    By  Randolph  Chester. 

Making  Money.  By  Owen  Johnson. 

Mam'  Linda.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Man  Outside,  The.    By  Wyndham  Martyn. 

Man  Trail,  The.     By  Henry  Oyen. 

Marriage.    By  H.  G.  Wells. 

Marriage  of  Theodora,  The.    By  Mollie  Elliott  Seawell. 

Mary  Moreland.    By  Marie  Van  Vorst. 

Master  Mummer,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Max.    By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

Maxwell  Mystery,  The.    By  Caroline  Wells. 

Mediator,  The.    By  Roy  Norton. 

Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Mischief  Maker,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Miss  Gibbie  Gault.    By  Kate  Langley  Bosher. 

Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown.    By  Florence  Morse  Ki^galey* 

Molly  McDonald.  By  Randall  Parrish. 

Money  Master,  The.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Money  Moon.  The.    By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

Motor  Maid,  The.    By  C.  N  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Moth,  The.    By  William  Dana  Orcutt. 

Mountain  Girl,  The.    By  Payne  Erskine. 

Mr.  Bingle.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Mr.  Grex  of  Monte  Carlo.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenh.wn. 

Mr.  Pratt.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mr.  Pratf  s  Patients.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mrs.  Balfame.     By  Gertrude  Atherton. 

Mrs.  Red  Pepper.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

My  Demon  Motor  Boat.    By  George  Fitch. 

My  Friend  the  Chauffeur.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson, 

My  Lady  Caprice.    By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

My  Lady  of  Doubt.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  the  North,    By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  the  South.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Ne'er-Do-Well,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 
Net,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 


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New  Clarion.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 
Night  Riders,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Night  Watches.    By  W.  W.  Jacobs. 
Nobody.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Once  Upon  a  Time.    By  Richard  Harding  Davis. 
One  Braver  Thing.     By  Richard  Dehan. 
One  Way  Trail,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Otherwise  Phyllis.    By  Meredith  Nicholson. 

Pardners.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Parrott  &  Co.    By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Partners  of  the  Tide.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Passionate  Friends,  The.    By  H.  G.  Wells. 

Patrol  of  the  Sun  Dance  Trail,  The.     By  Ralph  Connor. 

Paul  Anthony,  Christian.    By  Hiram  W.  Hayes. 

Perch  of  the  Devil.    By  Gertrude  Atherton. 

Peter  Ruff.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

People's  Man,  A.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Phillip  Steele.    By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Pidgin  Island.     By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Place  of  Honeymoon,  The.   By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Plunderer,  The.    By  Roy  Norton. 

Pole  Baker.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Pool  of  Flame,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Port  of  Adventure,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Postmaster,  The.     By  Joseph   C.   Lincoln. 

Power  and  the  Glory,  The.   By  Grace  McGowan  Cooke. 

Prairie  Wife,  The.     By  Arthur  Stringer. 

Price  of  Love,  The.    By  Arnold  Bennett. 

Price  of  the  Prairie,  The.    By  Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

Prince  of  Sinners.    By  A.  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Princes  Passes,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Princess  Virginia,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  N.  Williamson. 

Promise,  The.     By  J.  B.  Hendryx. 

Purple  Parasol,  The.    By  Geo.  B.  McCutcheon. 

Ranch  at  the  Wolverine,  The.     By  B.  M    Bower. 
Ranching  for  Sylvia.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Real  Man,  The.     By  Francis  Lynde, 
Reason  Why,  The.   By  Elinor  Glyn. 


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Red  Cross  Girl,  The.    By  Richard  Harding  Davis. 
Red  Mist,  The.    By  Randall  Parrish. 
Redemption  of  Kenneth  Gait,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 
Red  Lane,  The.    By  Holman  Day. 
•  Red  Mouse.  The.   By  Wm.  Hamilton  Osborne. 
Red  Pepper  Burns.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Rejuvenation  of  Aunt  Mary,  The.    By  Anne  Warner. 
Return  of  Tarzan,  The.    By  Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 
Riddle  of  Night,  The.     By  Thomas  W.  Hanshew. 
Rim  of  the  Desert,  The.    By  Ada  Woodruff  Anderson. 
Rise  of  Roscoe  Paine,  The.    By  J.  C.  Lincoln. 
Road  to  Providence,  The.    By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess. 
Robinetta.   By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin. 
Rocks  of  Valpre,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 
Rogue  by  Compulsion,  A.    By  Victor  Bridges. 
Rose  in  the  Ring,  The.   By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 
Rose  of  the  World.    By  Agnes  and  Egerton  Castle. 
Rose  of  Old  Harpeth,  The.    By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess. 
Round  the  Corner  in  Gay  Street.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Routledtge  Rides  Alone.    By  Will  L.  Comfort. 

St.  Elmo.    (111.  Ed.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Salamander,  The.    By  Owen  Johnson. 

Scientific  Sprague.    By  Francis  Lynde. 

Second  Violin,  The.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Secret  of  the  Reef,  The.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Secret  History.    By  C.  N.  &  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Self-Raised.    (111.)     By  Mrs.  Southworth. 

Septimus.     By  William  J.  Locke. 

Set  in  Silver.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Seven  Darlings,  The.    By  Gouverneur  Morris. 

Shea  of  the  Irish  Brigade.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Shepherd  of  the  Hills,  The.   By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Sign  at  Six,  The.    By  Stewart  Edw.  White. 

Silver  Horde,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Simon  the  Jester.    By  William  J.  Locke. 

Siren  of  the  Snows,  A.    By  Stanley  Shaw. 

Sir  Richard  Calmady.    By  Lucas  Malet. 

Sixty-First  Second,  The.     By  Owen  Johnson,  t 

$Iim  Princess,  The.    By  George  Ade. 


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